A SEAL Burial
by praemonitus praemunitus
Summary: What's the best place to bury a SEAL? The sea, of course. Someone wants Steve dead. Danny and the team have only a few hours to figure out why, who, and, most importantly, where. Will they get to their leader in time?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** I am working on wrapping up "Black Raven", but this story idea just won't leave me alone, and I can't stand having two different stories floating around in my head - gets too confusing. So I thought I'd start putting at least some of it down on paper, get a load off :-)

It's a small preview, a prologue (a teaser, if you will). I am very anxious to hear your thoughts. Does it sound interesting? Should I keep going? Let me know.

A/N2: not mine, unfortunately, not mine...

* * *

From his vantage point on the second floor of an abandoned warehouse building he watched the frantic whirlpool of commotion below, a cold disdainful smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. _"Sheep. Stupid, ignorant sheep," _he sneered silently, as the police predictably cordoned off the area in front of the bank, moving everyone so perfectly, so ridiculously close to where he was... hiding, waiting. _Not long now._

The two punks he hired to hold up the bank did their job beautifully. Even managed to shoot some unfortunate idiot who got in their way. Perfect. That got the HPD here in record time. And now that the "robbers" made their demands, 5-0 will not be long in coming. And then... then he shall have his revenge.

He licked his lips in nervous anticipation, his dark expressionless eyes narrowing slightly, as he spotted two new cars speeding down the road toward the scene - a silver Camaro and a red Cruze. _"Main course."_

He watched as the four members of Hawaii's elite task force jumped out of their vehicles, hurriedly putting on their vests and running off to join the other cops behind the yellow tape. He watched as their leader nodded to whatever the cop in charge told them of the situation and motioned to his team to spread out. Right on cue a series of shots came from the direction of the bank, a few bullets zinging off the hood of the closest HPD vehicle, forcing the cops and 5-0 to pull back, diving for cover.

The dull eyes lit up with unkind fire, raking over the tall dark-haired form that crouched behind a pile of crates. Such a great angle, so perfectly out of sight for his entire team, and yet so perfectly visible and open before him. He couldn't have asked for a better opportunity. His small face tightened, the thin lips pulling apart slightly in a small predatory smile. _"Perfect, just perfect." _

Turning his face slightly to a man crouching beside him - a high-powered sniper rifle grasped tightly in his hands - he uttered quietly, "It is time."

"Si, senor." The man nodded, aligning his scope.

"Remember, I need him breathing," he reminded curtly.

"Si, senor."

A split second later the gun thumped quietly, discharging its deadly load, and he watched with morbid glee as the crouching figure jerked suddenly, twisting sideways from an invisible blow, before falling backwards into the crates.

"Go pick him up," he ordered quietly. "Make sure no one sees you."

* * *

TBC (pending your comments)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N **Oh, wow! The response I got for the teaser chapter was absolutely UNBELIEVABLE. Wow. You, guys, sure know how to motivate a writer :-) Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!

This chapter should begin to answer at least some of your questions. Although I'm afraid it ends with yet another teaser. But I promise things will pick up speed on both Steve's and the team's side soon.

* * *

Chapter 1

_A few hours earlier._

"I'm just saying that you can't keep shielding her from the real world, Danny. It's all part of growing up."

"How, pray tell, is spending the night in the clutches of a bunch of hormone-crazed boys considered a part of the growing up process, Steven?"

The taller man cringed at the description, shaking his head with an amused smile, as he pushed open the door before them. "Geesh, you make it sound dirtier than a seedy strip club, Danny."

"I don't see much difference," the blond huffed, following his partner inside the ME's office.

"Really, Danny? She's going camping with her class not having the night out on the town."

"That's right, Steven," the blond raised his voice, arms waiving wildly in agitation. "Camping. In tents. At night. With boys."

"With other nine-year-olds," the darker man countered calmly, coming to a stop in front of a sheet-covered body on the autopsy table. "And their teacher will be with them. And," he raised his hand, preventing further arguments from his warpath-bound partner, "**and**, last time I checked Gracie wasn't going to an all-boys school, Danny. Relax, man. Save your energy for the teenage years." He gave Danny a big shit-eating grin, he turned to greet their quirky medical examiner.

"Hi, Max. What have you got for us?"

"Hello, Commander, Detective." The smaller man gave them each a short, grave nod, adjusted his glasses, and solemnly pulled back the sheet slightly, revealing a severely mangled, mutilated body.

"Jeez," Danny gasped, taking an involuntary step back from the disfigured mess, while his partner, predictably, moved a bit closer, peering curiously at the body before him.

"What did you find?" Steve asked, raising his eyes back to Max.

"Well, as you know, Commander," the ME began in his peculiar halting manner, "this person's vehicle was discovered in a ravine at the bottom of a hillside road, so, naturally, it was assumed that this person was killed in a car accident. Perhaps driving late at night and-"

"But?" Steve prompted, interrupting Max's conjectures and earning himself an irritated glare.

"But, upon a closer examination, I have discovered that some of the injuries were inconsistent with what a person would get in a crash such as this one."

"What kinds of injuries?" Danny piped in, daring to take a closer look at the body himself.

"Burns, bruises consistent with being hit with blunt heavy objects..."

"He was tortured then," Steve's eyes narrowed slightly, memories of his own torture flaying at his still healing mind.

"It would appear so, yes, Commander."

"Do we know who he is... was?" Danny inquired, keeping a worried eye on his partner.

Max shook his head. "Not as of this moment. The lab should have those results for you shortly, though."

"Well, thanks, Max," the detective nodded, taking this as a sign of dismissal.

The ME held up his hand, his face taking on an even graver expression. "There is one other thing. When I began removing this person's clothes to get better access for my examination, I came upon a rather disturbing discovery."

He grabbed the sheet again, pulling it down even more, revealing the victim's severely bruised stomach, dutifully cleaned of blood and grime. The two 5-0 members stared in confusion at the bright white letters that were spray-painted across it. _What the hell?_

"What does it say?" Danny wondered out loud.

"Revancha," Steve mumbled beside him. "It means 'revenge' in Spanish."

"So... definitely not random then." Danny's poor attempt at a joke was met with Max's stony glare and Steve's questioningly raised eyebrow. _"Oh, for crying out loud..."_

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

"Hey, Boss, got a minute?" Kono creaked open the door to Steve's office, waving a brown envelope at him.

He looked up from his laptop, quirking an eyebrow at her. "Is that the lab results?"

She nodded, slipping further into the room and placing the envelope on the desk before him.

"And?"

"Remember the drug case a little while ago, the hijacked school bus?"

"Yeah?" he leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, as he waited for her to continue.

"Our victim is Malcolm Schafer."

Steve sat up straighter at that, his hand reaching for the file. "The dad? The one who tipped off the police?"

"The same," Kono nodded, looking at him expectantly. "Do you think this was payback?"

McGarrett shrugged, thumbing through the pages of the report. "It's a possibility. As far as I know Castillo is still behind bars, though." He looked back up, meeting her gaze. "It's worth checking into. But we shouldn't dismiss other motives. Castillo may not have been the only shady client that Schafer had."

"Where do you want us to start?"

Steve considered the question a moment. "Let's start with the wife," he said finally. "Take Chin with you and bring her in for some questions. We need to get more details about her husband's business. Danny and I will look into Castillo's angle."

"You got it, Boss."

The four of them were already heading out the door, when Steve's phone rang. He listened silently for a few moments, nodding absently into the phone, and hung up having uttered the usual assurance of "We'll be right there."

"Looks like Schafer's case will have to be put on hold for a while," he said, shoving the cell phone back inside one of the bottomless pockets of his cargo pants. "That was Duke. Our presence is requested at a bank robbery."

"Requested?" Danny quirked an eyebrow at that.

"Yep. Apparently the robbers asked for us by name."

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

_Present time_

"Does any of this strike you as odd?" Chin Ho Kelly asked in his usual quietly measured voice, as his teammates approached the Camaro he was leaning against.

"Which part exactly?" Danny intoned, leaning against the car next to him to watch as a group of HPD officers escorted two handcuffed men out of the bank. "The one where a couple of punks hold up the bank claiming they will only speak to McGarrett and Five-0? Or the part where they start shooting at us the moment we get here?"

Chin spared him a quick sideways glance, returning to his intent observation of the two robbers. "I was thinking more along the lines of them suddenly tossing their guns out the door and handing themselves over into the hands of HPD. They never even asked to speak with any one of us." The Hawaiian fixed the blond detective with another curious gaze. "Don't you find that just a bit strange?"

Danny shrugged, unfastening the snaps of his bulletproof vest. "I admit, after having to rush down here with my maniac of a partner behind the wheel and risking my life at every 100 mile-per-hour turn, I am a bit disappointed. No action. No crazy SEAL antics." He gave another shrug, throwing his vest into the trunk. "Unlike one crazy SEAL we all know and love, however, I don't mind the lack of bloodshed every once in a while." He slammed the trunk shut, and frowned, looking around them as if searching for someone. "Where is our fearless leader anyway?"

"He was down by those crates over there," Kono supplied, shrugging off her vest and handing it to Chin. "I'll go see what's keeping him." She took off, leaving her cousin frowning after her.

"I have a bad feeling about this," he muttered, his calm features morphing into a deep scowl.

"Easy there, Mr. Negative," Danny waved him off, but Chin's darkening mood must have rubbed off on him as well, for he fidgeted nervously with the buckle of his holster, taking a few hesitant steps in the direction where Kono had left.

Chin's hand on his shoulder made him jump - a clear testament to his ever-increasing feeling of nervousness.

"Why don't we go see what's keeping Steve and Kono?" the Hawaiian suggested, and Danny nodded, cursing his colleague's freaky mind-reading abilities under his breath.

They haven't made it very far before Kono's sharp cry of alarm had them abandon all pretense of calm, as they raced toward her at breakneck speed, their guns at the ready.

"What is it?" Danny called out, skidding to a halt next to her. "What's wrong?"

Instead of a response, Kono pointed a shaking hand to a small puddle of dark crimson liquid that stained the gray concrete near a pile of broken, overturned crates. Above it, suspended by the drag handle off the edge of one of the crates hung a familiar bulletproof vest. Steve's. Across its front in bright freshly spray-painted letters was written a single word - _"Revancha"_.

* * *

TBC

Thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **Had a bit of free time for another quick update (because you are SUCH A WONDERFUL AUDIENCE!). Sorry it's a bit short, but it sets up for the action to come. Hope you enjoy.

Thank you for the wonderful, encouraging reviews! You, guys, are amazing! (bows)

* * *

Chapter 2

"Shit," Danny breathed out, running his hand along the small round hole in the dark fabric a few inches above the edge. "Shit," he repeated, as his fingers came away stained crimson.

"Armor-piercing rounds," Chin supplied unnecessarily, his mouth - a thin grim line.

"Ya think?" the blond snapped, overcome by sudden, inexplicable anger. Eyes wide and desperate, he began scanning the area around him, frantically searching for something - anything to latch onto.

"The shot would have come from somewhere over there," Kono spoke beside him, and Danny followed the motion of her hand to a row of buildings across the street: a couple of stores, a pharmacy, an old warehouse. "I can't tell for sure without seeing where the bullet hit, but from the way the crates were knocked down...," she broke off, her gaze drifting back to the crimson puddle.

"I get it," Danny managed, his voice strangled, as he suddenly found it harder to breathe. He didn't need to look back at the scene. The stain was there before him even now, unfading and indestructible, like Lady Macbeth's damned spot - a cruel, haunting reminder. And those white letters... His mind kept going back to those same spray-painted letters he saw on Max's autopsy table, the lifeless, mutilated body of one Malcolm Schafer. And now Steve...

He shuddered, digging his fingers deep into the palms of his hands, forcing his body to regain some modicum of control. _Steve needed him. No time to be losing it now._

"The warehouse? Kono?"

Danny felt her nod beside him. "That's what I would pick," she confirmed tensely, glancing up with him at the dark, gaping wounds of windows - cold, lifeless, abandoned. "It's empty - away from prying eyes. And if someone was up there," she pointed at the row of windows on the second floor of the building, "they'd have a perfect view of everyone at the scene."

"It's a little too convenient, isn't it?" Chin murmured, turning back to look at the bank. "To have a sniper out here at the exact same time that those guys decided to hold up the bank?"

"Wasn't a coincidence, Chin," Danny agreed, tearing his gaze away from the warehouse windows. "My guess is the son of bitch set the whole thing up just to lure us out here."

"The son of a bitch?"

"Castillo," Danny spit out the name, eyes blazing with desperation and fury.

"Danny," Kono protested, "we don't even know for sure if Castillo was behind this. Steve thought-"

"**Steve** isn't here right now," the blond exploded, his hand shooting out angrily to point at the SEAL's vest that still hung in the same place, mocking their distress. "**This**! This is what we have here. The same damned word that was painted on Schafer. And I know of only one cold-blooded Spanish-speaking killer with reasons to be pissed at both Schafer and Steve."

"There might be other possibilities that we haven't considered," she countered. "What if we end up chasing a dead end? What if you're wrong?"

Danny shook his head, letting out a deep shaky breath. "My gut is telling me I'm not."

"Sometimes the most obvious answer is the correct one," Kelly joined in suddenly, placing his hand on Danny's shoulder - a quiet gesture of support. "Steve always trusts your instincts, Brah. I say we go with them. What do you wanna do?"

The Jersey native nodded gratefully, squaring his shoulders against this new burden of leadership. "Chin, get a few people with you and check out that warehouse. I want every corner of it swept. If there is even a speck of dust that shouldn't belong there, I want it packed up and taken to the lab. Kono, the pharmacy over there and the 7-eleven store - they've got surveillance cameras outside. I want you to get the footage from them. See if they caught anything."

"Got it, Boss." The word slipped out automatically, a horrified expression crossing her face as she realized what she had said. "Danny, I-"

He raised his hand, silencing her, his own face growing a shade paler. "Just go, you guys," he managed, silently negotiating with his increasingly queasy stomach. "We'll meet back at the office."

"What are **you** gonna do?"

He nodded sharply in the direction of the squad car that currently confined the two would-be robbers. "I'll get those two punks released into our custody. I wanna have a chat with them."

Chin shook his head, doubtful. "You know they could just be a couple of hired guns Castillo got off the street. They might not be able to tell you anything."

Danny looked back at him then and Chin gasped at the cold, intense fury he saw flashing in the pale blue depths.

"Oh, they'll tell me something," he vowed calmly, reminding Chin even more of their missing leader. "I'll make sure of it."

And he stalked off, leaving his friends wondering whether Danny indeed has been hanging around Steve too long.

* * *

TBC

Does this answer some of your questions? :)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **I'm back again (with a slightly longer chapter). No Steve here yet, I'm afraid, not in person, anyway, but the team does get a glimpse of him, so to speak. I know Danny might have been a bit rough on Chin in the last chapter, but the man is, literally, beside himself with worry. He was, after all, the only one (apart from Steve) who saw what was done to Malcolm Schafer. I'm afraid he might be channeling Steve a bit too much in this chapter as well, but, hopefully, he's not too far out of character.

Thank you again for the wonderful reviews and words of encouragement (and the prodding :-))! I love to hear your thoughts, and would love to know what you think of this chapter (hint, hint). Any thoughts, comments and ideas are greatly appreciated :)

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Chapter 3

"Dude, what's the deal?" the somewhat haughtily drawled out words greeted him as he walked into the interrogation room. "We're supposed to be at the police precinct."

"Oh?" he feigned surprise at that, striding further into the room, until he was a mere step away from the scruffy-looking chair-bound punk. Planting his feet firmly shoulder width apart, he crossed his arms over his chest, concealing the traitorous tremor of fury that coursed through his body at the very idea that the man before him might have been responsible for whatever had happened to his partner. "And why, may I ask, are you in such a hurry to get there? It was you, after all, who requested to speak with us in the first place."

The punk huffed at that, sparing Danny a look full of disdain. "We changed our mind, dude. Get with the program."

Danny's face slipped into an angry scowl, his right hand reaching down to the waistline where the gun holster hung snugly against his side, and the suspect sat up a little straighter, the pale lips twitching nervously. "Come on, man. We surrendered peacefully. No harm, no foul, you know what I mean."

His tense smile was met with a stony glare, and the handcuffed man gulped nervously, fighting to regain his former bravado. "Look, dude, I get that you are pissed that we had you come out there and all, but you can't really hold us here. We-"

Danny didn't let him finish. Leaning back slightly, he lifted his right foot and slammed it forcefully into the suspect's chair, toppling it over along with its occupant. The metallic clang reverberated around the room, crashing against the cacophonous accompaniment of the man's surprised yelp.

"What the hell, dude?" the shaggy head lifted awkwardly off the floor, mouth open, ready to spew forth another string of indignant utterances. Whatever words he was about to say, however, died in his throat, as the blond detective leaned over him, his gun pointed unerringly at his now sheet-white face.

"I am going to ask you some questions now," Danny said in a deceptively calm voice that somehow made the punk's hair stand on end. "And if I don't like your answers, I'm going to put a bullet in that ugly mug of yours. Understand?"

"You... you can't do that," the man mumbled nervously, trying in vain to wiggle backwards, away from the menacing barrel. "Other cops-"

"You see anyone else here?" the Jersey native scoffed unkindly, the corners of his mouth pulling into a feral smile, as he caught the other man looking wildly and desperately around the room.

"Th-the mirror...," he stammered pathetically, eyes darting to the one-way mirror on the side wall. "Th-there's always cops watching on the other side. I know... I've seen it."

"You watch too many movies," Danny countered coldly, calmly taking the safety off the gun. "We're not at HPD. We're on Five-0 territory now. Don't you think if someone _were_ watching they'd be in here by now trying to stop me by now?" He smirked, watching the man's eyes widen with fear, as he leaned above him, bringing the gun even closer to the thin pasty face. "My patience is very thin at the moment," he warned, making a show of tightening his finger around the trigger. "So if I were you, I wouldn't try it any longer. You get what I'm saying,... **dude**?"

A short, frightened nod was his answer, and Danny allowed himself a small breath of relief.

"Now then, who hired you?"

"I don't know, man."

The gun swung closer still, and the punk shook his head wildly, stammering out, "I s-swear, d-dude, I don't know. G-ghost was the only one I...we t-talked to. H-he said there was some dude looking t-to hire a couple people f-for a small job. I-I-I ...the m-money was good, s-so..."

"Does this _Ghost_ have a name?"

"W-willie... Willie Rivers. The guy's a hacker. Professional. His services don't come cheap either. The dude's got his nickname for a reason. He's good. I mean, real good."

"What was the job?" The gun remained trained on him, unwavering.

"G-go to the bank, shoot up the place a bit, get you, guys, out there, shoot some more, a-and surrender to HPD. And then we were t-to wait for Ghost to c-come bail us out. That's all, dude, I swear."

Danny pulled back a bit, the blue eyes glistening darkly. "So this Ghost is the reason you are so anxious to get back to HPD?"

"Well, yeah, dude," with the gun out of his face now, the man seemed to have gotten a bit of his bravado back. "Ghost is probably already waiting for us there."

The blond smirked at that, straightening out and putting the gun back into its holster. "Thank you."

"Hey, man, a-aren't you gonna let us go now?"

The question caught Danny on his way out. Turning slightly, his hand on the handle, he shook his head, an expression of mock regret crossing his features. "Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but you did just hold up a bank, shot a civilian and fired on police officers. So I'm afraid Ghost is going to have wait just a little longer." And he walked out, closing the door behind him.

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

"You got all that?" Danny called out to Chin the moment he spotted him on the other side of the one-way mirror.

Kelly nodded. "I already called down to the precinct. A guy came in there a few minutes ago asking for these two characters. They are bringing him over as we speak."

"Good. That's good." He scrubbed a hand down his face, frowning as he noticed the slight tremble of his fingers.

"You alright, Brah?" Kelly's worried gaze met his, and the blond forced his lips into a shaky smile.

"I'm fine, Chin. Did you and Kono find anything?"

"Kono's reviewing the tapes right now," the Hawaiian responded. "As for the warehouse, it was cleaned out pretty well. We did manage to get a few prints off a windowsill on the second floor, though. They belong to a Paul Moreno, a gun for hire. The guy is suspected in at least a dozen hits." His expression grew tense, and he added, "You were right about Castillo, too. I called Halawa. Some prisoners started a riot there a week ago. By the time the officers got it under control, one managed to escape."

" Castillo."

Chin nodded grimly. "They didn't become aware of it until it was too late."

"Shit." Danny swallowed harshly, biting his lower lip. This was rapidly turning into one bad dream. _And what the heck would Castillo want with a hacker anyway?_

"Guys, I think I've got something!" Kono's sharp cry interrupted his musings, and, throwing a quick somber look at Chin, he took off running, the other man following close behind.

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

"The footage is not very clear, but..." Kono's voice trailed off, and the three remaining Five-0 members leaned in closer, peering at the succession of grainy images before them.

They saw the familiar figure of their friend, as he crouched down next to the crates, and couldn't suppress a gasp as they saw him jerk violently to the side a moment later, falling awkwardly into the pile of crates meant to protect him.

Fearing the worst, they waited with bated breaths for Steve to show any sign of life, releasing a collective sigh of relief upon seeing him struggle to sit up, his left hand rising to his side, fumbling shakily with the straps of the his now ruined vest. Their relief was short lived, however, and their stomachs clenched painfully with the knowledge that they were about to witness what were perhaps their friend's last moments.

They saw the former SEAL pull himself upright with great difficulty, leaning heavily on the crate, left hand clamped firmly against his injured side. He looked upward, his trained eyes zeroing in on the direction of the shot. And then there was a movement behind him, and he turned, his movements slow and sluggish.

Two dark-clad silhouettes converged on their wounded friend. There was a flash of something long and metal in the air above Steve's head, and then the SEAL was down. For good.

They watched, Danny's white-knuckled fingers digging forcefully into the back of Kono's chair, as one of the men leaned over the motionless form of their friend and straightened out a few brief moments later with Steve's vest in his hand. Hanging it on the nearby crate, he leaned back down, motioning to his partner to do the same. Together they grabbed the non-responsive SEAL by the limbs, lifted him up and carried him off out of the view of the camera.

The room remained steeped in silence for a while, everyone too shocked and shaken to say anything. Finally, Kono reached forward numbly, turning the video off.

"At least we know he's still alive," she whispered, her face pinched and pale with worry. "They... they wouldn't have taken him if he wasn't."

Danny's voice was gruff and suspiciously shaky when he responded. "The question is, for how long."

* * *

TBC

Well, now the team knows what happened to Steve, at least. More questions remain, though. Right? :-)


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N **Thank you! For all the reviews and the favorites and the alerts! I know I've been falling behind in my PMs, and I'm sorry. I will try to get to them all, I promise. (unless you don't sign in when you comment, in which case the system won't let me respond to you. sorry. I do still appreciate your comments, very much!) Huge thanks and hugs to all of you!

I'm so glad most of you accepted Danny's Steve-like behavior in the last chapter (because he's about to do something even more crazy and Steve-like - one chapter from now :-)

You've all been asking to know what happened to Steve, where he was taken, what's being done to him. I think this chapter should answer those questions. Hope you enjoy it. And, please, let me know your thoughts! Your comments totally make my day :)

Disclaimer: not mine

Disclaimer 2: any and all mistakes are my own. blame it on lack of sleep and absence of a beta reader :)

* * *

Chapter 4

"Commander."

Pain tore into his consciousness like a rabid dog on a jackhammer, ripping, deafening, nauseating. He tried to take a breath, and the red-hot poker buried deep in his side shifted, unleashing a wave of suffocating, gut-tearing agony that quickly began to pull him back under.

"Commander! Hey, hey, come on." A hand connected sharply with his cheek, the echo of the slap reverberating cruelly inside his already aching head. "None of that now. I need you awake."

His head hurt. Pounded mercilessly; its every painful pulsating beat echoing in his torn abdomen with bile-raising severity. Darkness beckoned again, and he yearned to surrender to it, to get at least some relief from the pain. But it was not to be.

The hand was back at it, and his head snapped sideways from the blow. "Wake up, Commander. You're trying my patience."

But the spike in pain shredded the remaining threads of awareness, and the feeble canvas of consciousness fell away completely, plunging him whole into pain-free nothingness.

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

"You have no right to hold me! I have not done anything!"

Three members of Hawaii's elite task force stood like a hostile, impenetrable wall in front of a metal chair, looking down at a scrawny bespectacled man, who was shifting nervously on it, his beady fearful eyes flicking anxiously between their menacing stares.

"You know what, Cuz," Kono tilted her head slightly, as if sizing up the character before her, "I think he might be right."

"I agree," Chin intoned, his face - a sea of perfect calm save for the dangerously cold glint of his eyes. "I think we should escort Mr. Rivers home and apologize for this unfortunate misunderstanding."

"I have a better idea," Danny offered, turning to his two teammates. "After all, Mr. Rivers was just brought down here in a squad car like a common criminal, thereby putting an indelible stain on his reputation as a good citizen. I believe it is our duty to make sure that everybody knows that Mr. Rivers is an innocent party in all this; to help him clear his good name. I think a press conference would be in order."

"That is an excellent idea, Danny," Kono enthused, fighting to keep her composure. "I'm going to go make some calls right now."

She made a show of heading for the door, not surprised to hear a frightened screech behind her. "Are you, people, insane?"

"Why, Mr. Rivers, you look positively pale," Danny's face creased in mock concern. "Are you ill?"

"I think he looks a bit scared there, Danny," Chin observed, one eyebrow creeping up in mild amusement.

"Hmm, I wonder why that is." The blond snapped his fingers, as though struck by a sudden realization. "I bet he doesn't want his friends to find out he's been playing nice with the cops. A Mr. Castillo perhaps?"

Their bespectacled prisoner scowled in response. "You can't prove anything. All I did was come bail out a couple of my friends. I had nothing to do with whatever shit they got themselves into."

"And we'll be sure Mr. Castillo knows just how helpful you've been. Go ahead, Kono."

"You... you have no right to do this!" Rivers paled even more, twisting in the chair for all he was worth. "I didn't do nothing!"

Danny whirled on him then, all pretense gone. "I think you're being too modest there, **Ghost**. I wouldn't call taking part in a plot to kidnap and murder a police officer nothing."

The eyes behind the spectacles widened impossibly. "Kidnapping? Murder?" he breathed out, shifting his wild gaze from one detective to the next, hoping to see at least some hint that they were still trying to mess with his head. He was met with three cold, withering stares. No hint of humor anywhere.

"Hey, listen, listen," he spoke hurriedly, suddenly coming to a realization that whatever it was Castillo got him into was now coming back to bite him in the ass. Hard. "I'll tell you all I know, but, I swear I had nothing to do with no kidnapping."

"Your associates Humpty and Dumpty over there say differently," Danny countered, thumb pointing behind his back in the general direction of the holding cells. "They say you were the brains behind the whole thing. Told them where to go, when to shoot, even told them to lure the Five-0 unit out there."

"No, no, no," Rivers shook his head frantically and leaned forward, pulling on his handcuffs. "It was all Castillo. I had no idea. You have to believe me. He asked me if I knew a couple who wouldn't mind doing a little job for him. I knew Kale and Sammy were looking to score some money, so I told him yes. Castillo gave me the instructions, and I passed them on. That's all, man, I swear."

Placing both hands on the back of Rivers' chair, Danny leaned over him, causing the latter to shrink back as far as the chair allowed.

"Let's say I believe you," he said carefully, blue eyes drilling holes in the other man. "Your friends, though, seem to think you're one of the best hackers around. Now, why would Castillo waste a talent such as yours on the task of a simple messenger boy?"

"I-," Rivers lowered his gaze, suddenly shy. "He hired me to do another job," he mumbled finally and added eagerly, raising his head, "b-but it had nothing to do with the bank hold-up, I swear."

"What was it?"

The hacker frowned, hesitating. "I... I don't know. I'm afraid I'm gonna be in trouble with the Navy if I tell you."

"Navy?" Kono mouthed to Chin behind Danny's back, her gaze questioning. The older Hawaiian shrugged, his own brow creasing in confusion.

"You're gonna be in trouble with us if you don't," Danny threatened meanwhile, his voice leaving no doubt as to the seriousness of his threat. "Talk."

Rivers swallowed thickly, pulling his head deeper into his shoulders. "H-he wanted me to hack into the Navy database."

"Why?"

The hacker shrugged, a miniscule shrug. "He wanted to know the schedule for something called SINKEX or something."

"What's SINKEX?" Danny pulled back, throwing a questioning look at his teammates, who responded with bewildered stares of their own.

"How the hell should I know?" Rivers shrugged again. "I wasn't paid to research the term. I was asked to find a page with that information. I found it. End of story."

"Do you remember anything from that page?" Kono stepped in. "Anything at all?"

The man's lips tightened, eyes narrowing in concentration. "There were just names, dates and times there," he mumbled, closing his eyes momentarily. "I think... I think one of the dates was today... Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was today. ... I don't remember the time... And the name was ... Kilu-... Kilau-... Something like that."

"Kilauea?" Chin asked suddenly, getting big-eyed questioning looks from his two colleagues.

"Yeah! That's the one," Rivers perked up, nodding enthusiastically. "Does this... does this help? Will you, guys, let me go now?"

"We'll let you know," Kono responded, slapping him none too gently on the shoulder. "You hang in here for now."

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

"What was that all about?" Danny asked the moment they stepped outside the interrogation room.

Wordlessly, Chin led them to the smart table and began typing something into the computer. "I remember reading an article in the paper about a week ago. Some environmentalist complaining about the Navy's decision to resume its sinking exercises near Kauai."

"Sinking exercises?" Danny's brows knitted in confusion.

"Here," Chin pulled up the page he was looking for, kicking it up to the large screen. "_Three inactive vessels - Kilauea, Niagara Falls and Concord - are scheduled to be sunk later this month as part of the naval SINKEX program.'_" he read aloud, pointing at the screen.

"Ookay...," Danny drawled out, as he finished skimming the article. "So the Navy's going to use some old ships for target practice. What would Castillo want with that information? ... Unless..." A horrible realization drove its iron fist into his gut, and he nearly doubled over from the blow, all of the air gone from his lungs in an instant.

"Danny?" Kono's hand landed on his shoulder, worry-filled eyes trying to capture his. "What is it? What-"

He shook his head mutely, making a desperate motion toward the screen that showed the photo of a solitary gray ship standing proudly against the brilliant blue of the ocean. "That's it. That's where he took him," he breathed out finally, forcing down a crippling wave of nauseating fear.

Beside him he heard Chin's sharply drawn breath and Kono's horrified, "Oh god...".

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

Cold ocean water slammed him back into consciousness, a merciless, powerful torrent crashing down upon his unprotected face, flooding his nose, his mouth, drowning him. Instinct took over, and he sputtered, gasping for air despite the instant, vicious return of the pain. Rough hands grasped his shoulders, pulling him up into a sitting position, and he bit down hard on his bottom lip, trying to hold back a scream. His back was pushed firmly against a smooth, hard surface, and he felt his arms being pulled back behind him, cold metal rings snapping closed around his wrists.

"Open your eyes, Commander," the same vaguely familiar voice ordered, and he struggled to obey, peeling his eyes open a crack and regretting it almost instantly, as the influx of light once again raised his headache to a nauseating level.

Breathing harshly through his nose to fight off the rising bile, he tried again, slower and more carefully this time. A shapeless, blurry face swam into his vision, and he blinked sluggishly, trying to get his eyes to focus.

"Much better," the face approved, moving closer, and he squinted, as its hazy features finally began to take shape.

"Castillo..."

The face before him broke into a satisfied smile. "I'm flattered that you remember me, Commander. This wouldn't be half as much fun if you didn't know who I was."

A hand reached toward the side of his head, and he hissed in pain, as it pressed down on a particularly tender spot. "For a moment there, I was afraid that my men hit you a bit too hard," Castillo pulled his hand back, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval. "You were unconscious for so long, I was afraid you'd miss the show I prepared for you."

"Y-you ... r-really... sh-shouldn't h-have...," Steve managed through tightly clenched teeth.

His eyes, now wide-open and slightly unfocussed, drifted across his surroundings, trying to gauge the FUBARness of his situation. He was on a ship. He knew that much for sure. He would recognize those smooth gray metal lines anywhere - it was like second home to him. The strong, overpowering smell of the ocean, the light rocking and the absence of any external sounds - machine or human - told him they were far away from port. So, they were deep at sea on a naval ship. Yet something was off. Something about the ship...

As he was trying to focus his muddled brain long enough to figure this out, he realized that Castillo was still speaking. Shifting his gaze back toward the man, he just barely caught the end of the question directed to him.

"...-where you are, Commander?" Not waiting for a response, Castillo went on, his eyes glistening like those of a feral cat in view of its prey. "Of course, you do. You may have even been on this ship before. You haven't? No? Well, no matter." He chuckled unkindly. "You and this ship have a lot in common, you know. You both served the Navy for many years. Served well, I imagine. But now, sadly, you have both outlived your usefulness." The Spaniard's face pulled into a grimace of regret.

"I like this ship, Commander. It looks quite impressive on the outside. And I like you, too. You're an impressive man. Unfortunately for you, you decided to cross me. I cannot let that slide, you understand."

"Why don't you... go b... blow yourself up on s-something. Make the... world a b-better place...," Steve suggested breathlessly, letting anger at his helplessness take control, silencing the pain.

Castillo raised a hand, stopping one of his goons, who was about to swing a fist at Steve's head, and shrugged regretfully, pushing himself to his feet.

"Your stubbornness is unfortunate, Commander," he said, his voice deceptively calm, hiding his own anger simmering just beneath the surface. "You will find, however, that I am being more than fair toward you. I am giving you the honor of going down with one of your own ships in a blaze of glory. What better death for a Navy man, huh?" The corners of his lips pulled into an amused smile. "Of course, you'll be killed by your very own brothers in arms, so to speak. And I'm sure they'd be devastated if they found out. But who's gonna tell them? I sure as hell am not planning to. You? Well... you'll be too busy, you know, **dying**..." e He barked out a laugh, squinting down at his captive to gauge his reaction.

Steve kept his silence. He had already begun to suspect the reason why the insides of this ship looked like it was stripped by a group of junkyard thieves. Castillo's words only served to confirm those suspicions, and his heart clenched painfully at the realization that he was going to be buried in this metal grave in the middle of the ocean, and his friends won't even know what happened to him. _And Mary... Shit. At least Schafer's wife got to bury the body._

A hand tugged roughly on his arm, testing the handcuffs, and he pulled his arm away, glaring at the intruder.  
"Do forgive my associate, Commander," Castillo bowed his head derisively, squatting down once more in front of his prisoner. "I realize handcuffs might seem a bit too much to you, but I heard how resourceful Navy SEALs are. Even wounded." He paused, his cold dark eyes boring into Steve's. "I went to a lot of trouble to get you front-row tickets for this show, and I really want you to stick around and watch it." His thrust his hand forward suddenly, driving it forcefully into the SEAL's injured side, eliciting a hoarse gasp of pain. "To the end."

Straightening himself back out, Castillo headed to the stairs that led to the upper deck, motioning to his men to follow. Hand on the rails, he paused, turning back to the ghastly pale and barely conscious SEAL. "Have a nice funeral, Commander. I'd love to stick around and watch, but I've got my life to live and my freedom to enjoy. Adios."

And he was gone. Moments later the faint sound of helicopter blades cut into his pain-smothered consciousness, and Steve was left to await his grim fate completely and utterly alone.

* * *

TBC

Well, I hope I was clear enough in explaining what happened and what is about to happen to our boy. If you find the explanation confusing, feel free to PM me and/or look up SINKEX :)

I'll be anxiously awaiting your comments.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N **My apologies, I lagged a bit behind with this chapter. I needed to do a bit more research and, well, RL is beginning to interfere again (darn it!)

Some of you have asked about Catherine and Joe. Well, I've thought about using them. I really did. But that would have been too easy, wouldn't it? And why would I want to make things easy? So with a heavy heart (yeah, right) I cut off some of the support strings for the team. They'll just have to work a little harder. Hopefully, things are still in the 'believable' range :-)

Let me know what you think. I always, always appreciate your comments (even if I don't respond to them right away). Thank you!

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Chapter 5

"Well, Catherine's officially unreachable!" Kono slammed her phone onto the desk in frustration, throwing her teammates a look full of despair. "Her phone keeps going straight to voice mail."

"Her ship could be on maneuvers," Chin speculated. "If she's in the middle of some war exercises, she hardly has time to check her phone. She may not even have it on her."

"Right," Danny joined in grimly, flicking his gaze back to the photo of USNS Kilauea that looked down upon them innocently from the screen, "she's probably busy torpedoing her not-quite-boyfriend to the bottom of the ocean, even as we speak."

"You don't think she's taking part in those?" Kono whispered, horrified. "Oh my god, she'll be crushed if she finds out."

"For her sake, I hope she's not," Danny bit out, feeling his stomach flip sickeningly at the idea. "But it's a naval war exercise. She's on a Navy ship. If she's stationed anywhere near Pearl Harbor, I would imagine she'll be right in the middle of it. Wherever **it** is."

He ran a hand through his sweat-damp, tousled hair and began pacing nervously in front of the table, frustration and fear mounting with every step. Though he was fairly certain in his conviction that Steve was held captive on the doomed ship, they knew neither the time nor the location where the exercise was supposed to take place, and thus they were no closer to figuring out how to find him. Catherine Rollins, on whose help in this matter they had placed such high hopes, was a dead end.

"We could try Joe," Kono suggested, grabbing for her phone again, but Danny shook his head bleakly.

"I don't think Joe's even on the island. I know Steve's been trying to reach him for days with no success."

They were running out of options, and Steve was rapidly running out of time, if he hasn't already. They could try getting the governor involved, but, beside having to listen to yet another lengthy lecture on boundaries and procedures, he wasn't putting too much faith in the governor's ability to get through to the military brass. Going through the official channels didn't exactly help them get Steve out of North Korea.

The blond raised his head suddenly, a wild gleam brightening his worry-dulled blues. _SEALs. That's it._

"Danny-?"

But he turned on his heels wordlessly and was already running out the door by the time Kono's mouth formed the rest of the question.

Moments later he was in the car, only mildly surprised to see his teammates climb in after him.

"You shouldn't be here," he tried, glancing in his rearview mirror at the Rookie's worry-pinched face. "You and Chin-"

"Are coming with you," she retorted sharply, her lips pale but her voice firm. "Whatever crazy thing you got going, Brah, we're coming along. End of story."

"Even breaking onto the SEALs base?" Danny bit out gruffly, revving up the engine and peeling out of the parking lot with rubber-burning speed that would have made his partner proud.

Beside him Chin shook his head in awed disbelief. "When we get Steve back, I think it would be best if you two took a short vacation from each other," he observed calmly, holding on for dear life during a particularly sharp turn, "You're starting to think alike. It's becoming scary."

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

"Sir, I am telling you that you're going to have to turn back. This is a restricted area." The young security guard raised his weapon higher, pointing it at the blond detective's chest for greater emphasis.

"And I am telling **you** that we need to speak to Commander Gutches immediately!" Danny insisted loudly, his body vibrating with a Herculean effort to maintain control. "Tell him it's a matter of life and death! Tell him Five-0 needs his help on another _humanitarian_ mission. Tell him something. Just get him the hell over here NOW!"

The young man's face creased in confusion, but he didn't waver, shifting his gaze slowly between the three anxious faces before him.

Cursing sharply under his breath, Danny stepped forward angrily, his broad chest nearly touching the muzzle of the other man's gun. "Listen to me, you juvenile John Wayne wannabe," he hissed, somehow making his smaller frame tower over the significantly taller guard, "a SEAL is about to die because of your asinine stubbornness. A Lieutenant Commander McGarrett, who happens to be good friends with Commander Gutches. Now I don't know about you, but I am pretty damn sure that Commander Gutches will be terribly upset when he finds out that one of his friends, a SEAL, died because of your inept, blundering interference!" He took a deep breath, encouraged by a flicker of fear he saw in the younger man's eyes, and unleashed the full power of his lungs on the hapless guard.

"GET! GUTCHES! HERE! NOW!"

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

The metal rings dug into his wrists, sharp and brutal, cutting off circulation, as he strained against the handcuffs, pulling harder and harder, even as his wrists grew slick and sticky with blood. The pipe behind him refused to budge.

He slumped against it, pain and exhaustion weighing down on him like a pile of bricks, crushing, unmovable. _He couldn't give up though. Not yet._

Steve was under no illusion as to his chances of actually getting out of this alive. Injured and alone in the middle of the ocean on a ship that's about to be blown to pieces, his chances of survival were... well, nonexistent. He had to hand it to Castillo - the bastard's plan was brilliant in its depravity. But though he may have resigned himself (more or less) to the idea of dying, he would be damned if he let it happen on Castillo's terms, with him cuffed to a metal pipe like a lamb prepared for slaughter.

Closing his eyes briefly to prepare himself for what he was about to do, Steve sucked in a quick breath and lurched forward with all his might, collapsing his hands as much as he could.

He felt something snap in his right hand, pain ratcheting up to a whole new level, and his vision tunneled momentarily, threatening to go dark altogether. But an instant later his hand slipped free, and he fell forward, landing awkwardly onto his injured left side.

A hoarse scream tore from his throat, echoing hollowly within the empty bowels of the ship, as he just lay there, breathing harshly, trying hard to concentrate on not passing out.

An eternity later, it seemed, he finally gathered enough strength to attempt to stand up. The broken wrist pressed gingerly against his blood-soaked midsection, he pushed up with his good arm, struggling first to his knees and then, slowly and painfully, regaining his feet.

The skinny gray ladder - his ultimate goal - stood less than three feet away, wavering in and out of focus, as he shuffled laboriously toward it, swaying like a sapling in the wind.

He was already within reach of his destination, his left hand rising to grab hold of this new support, when a high-pitched whistling noise was heard outside the ship, and a flash of a moment later a missile hit - the first of many. The impact sent a violent, shuddering shock wave across the entire length of the ship, ripping the ground from under his wobbly feet and throwing him callously, brutally forward into the hard metal edge of the ladder before him.

It proved to be too much. A firestorm of pain tore through him with the severity and power of a napalm bomb explosion, his consciousness obliterated within seconds. He was out cold before he ever hit the ground.

* * *

TBC

so, cue in the dramatic music...


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N** I need to apologize to everyone for the long delay and the lack of responses to all your amazing comments. I feel terrible. I had no intention of taking so long before this update, but my workload is starting to pick up again, and I'm having less and less time to write. I will try my best to finish both stories before the end of the summer, though. Hope you'll be patient with me.

Thank you to all who are still following the story. For your alerts, for your favorites, for your prodding. It's the best gift for a writer to receive! Thank you!

* * *

Chapter 6

Lt. Commander Wade Gutches leaned against his desk, listening to the hurried, worry-laced words of the three detectives, his right eyebrow arching in disbelief.

"A SINKEX ship? Really?" He shook his head, dropping his gaze back to the computer screen, and quickly typing something up, even as he muttered under his breath, "You, guys, sure know how to pick your enemies, don't you?"

The question wasn't really directed at anyone in particular, but Danny, unsurprisingly, chose to respond. Arms crossed on his chest in a subconsciously defensive gesture, he stepped forward, objecting, "No, that's usually McGarrett's thing. He must have forgotten to include that under 'skills' in his resume."

Gutches spared him another glance and frowned. Sarcastic barb aside, the man looked like crap: his face - worry-pinched and pale, eyes - an anguished, haunted blue. He couldn't say he blamed the guy either. _If Williams' suspicions were correct, McGarrett really was in deep trouble. If he was still alive even. A big if._

"Can you stop it?"

The question brought him out of his moment of reverie, and Gutches let out a small sigh and called out to the ensign that escorted the Five-0 members into his office. "Ensign Harper, get Stephens, Combs and Dyer. Tell them to get their rescue gear and meet me outside in 5. Have a chopper stand by."

"Aye, Sir." The ensign promptly turned on his heels and left, and Gutches looked back at the anxious faces before him, unsure if what he was about to say would provide relief or more anguish. _"Probably both,"_ he thought fleetingly.

Throwing another look at his computer, the Commander turned it around to let his visitors see the information for themselves. "According to this," he motioned at the screen, "the exercise began at 14:00 hours."

Instinctively, Chin glanced at his wristwatch, the dark eyes widening in alarm. "That's... that was 15 minutes ago."

"Fifteen minutes ago," Danny rasped out beside him, the strained, breathless words hanging in the charged air between them grim and inescapable like a death sentence.

_They failed him. Failed. _ Danny stumbled backwards away from the screen, clammy, trembling hands clamped over his eyes, shutting out the damning numbers. _His friend, his brother was dead. They were too late. __**He**__ was too late. _

"Call them!" Chin shifted forward anxiously, placing a steadying hand on the distraught detective's shoulder. "Tell them to stop the exercise."

Gutches shook his head, a regretful expression crossing his features. "I'm afraid that won't be possible at this time. No outside communications are accepted during the exercise. However..." He raised his hand, waiting until he was sure he had their undivided attention. "However, the purpose of SINKEX is to target practice. And for that reason, the longer the ship stays afloat, the better."

"So what you're saying is that they'll be pummeling that ship for all they're worth, and we can't do anything to stop it," Kono bit out, glaring daggers at the grim-looking Commander.

"What I'm saying," he corrected her patiently, "is that the ship is likely not to be sunk for at least another hour. And if Commander McGarrett can manage to survive the hits, we might be able to get him off that ship in one piece."

"How do you suggest we do that?" Danny asked tensely, hope once again flickering in the troubled eyes.

"By following your lead, Detective," Gutches grinned crookedly at him, a grudging respect for the man's audacity. "Flying into the middle of the exercise zone and hoping they don't shoot us done when we do."

"We're coming along," Danny took a step toward him, face creased with stubborn determination.

The Commander nodded. "I expected nothing else, Detective. Come," he motioned for the three of them to follow, as he headed for the door. "There's a chopper waiting. It should get us there in half an hour, tops."

"A vacation, Danny," Chin whispered into his friend's ear, as they followed Gutches's lead. "Two weeks at least."

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

_He was swimming. Plowing through the serene, sparkling waters like a sleek flesh-and-bone torpedo. The ocean carried forward, vast and powerful, its formidable watery muscles rippling underneath his body, holding him gently, securely in its cool embrace._

_And he breathed in that power that surrounded him, letting it soak deep into his bones, into his very core, making him one with that magnificent element. "We be of one blood, you and I"_

_A shadow passed over him then - a vague, menacing breath of something dark and sinister, a foreboding._

_The ocean around him responded with an unsettled shudder, a black swirl of emotions tightening around him in a suddenly uncomfortable, troubled grip. _

_He stopped his forward dash, treading the suddenly much-much colder water and looking around him in confusion, as he tried to find the source of this unwelcome change. His gaze went upward, and he frowned at the rapidly gathering jagged storm clouds. "I gotta get to shore." Even as the thought flashed in his mind with a dire trumpet peal of alarm, the sky roared with deafening, ear-splitting thunder, spitting forth a great bolt of fire. Deadly and precise it headed straight for his unprotected form, and he jerked himself into action, swimming furiously back to the shore. _

_But the ocean, heretofore gentle and supportive, grew rough and agitated, waves surging high all around him, pulling at his arms and legs, hindering his progress. He battled through them breathlessly, even as the waves slammed brutally into him, cold, hard, merciless, pulling him back, pulling him under. He sputtered, fighting to catch his breath, his lungs burning with exertion and the need for oxygen. _

_The shore was closer now, almost within reach. He could do this. He could-_

_Another blast of thunder shook the raging sky above him, and the air around him crackled with lethal power, as a blindingly bright bolt of lightning crashed into the water a few feet away. _

_He launched himself forward through the billowing waves in one last desperate burst for safety._

_He didn't make it. Electric fire raced toward him through the wildly churning darkness, engulfing his body in a blaze of white-hot agony a split second later. _

_He screamed, his voice hoarse and raw, while the scorching, suffocating air squeezed at his throat, cutting off his pleas for release. "You're gonna die out here," the air whispered maliciously into his ear, wrapping its suffocating breath around him. "You're gonna die alone."_

A rasping scream died on his lips, as he jolted back to awareness, seeking refuge from the terror and pain of his nightmare. He found none. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the sensations - it was all still there, all around him. Clouds of grey, billowing smoke swirled around him, thick and suffocating. Water was here too. He felt its cool wetness underneath him, his clothes, drenched and heavy, clinging to his too warm body.

And then there was fire - hot, devouring, lacing up his right leg, its searing fangs gnawing at his flesh, merciless, insatiable.

Blinking savagely through the tears brought on by the smoke as much as the pain, he peered through the grey, oxygen-starved haze, his watery gaze landing on a large smoldering chunk of metal that lay across his right leg, its charred, jagged edges digging viciously into his skin just above the knee.

_"Well, that explains the pain,"_ he thought wryly, as he sat up shakily and reached for it with his good arm, trying to push it off. The scalding metal resisted, the skin on his palm sizzling from prolonged contact, but he pushed on stubbornly, teeth clenched around his bottom lip, biting back a harsh cry. He pushed, until he felt the smoking heap of metal give way with a sickening scraping jolt, sliding forward and off his foot, leaving a bleeding trail in its wake.

He fell back then, breathing harshly like a trapped animal, letting his now raw and blistered hand drop bonelessly into the shallow water that surrounded him, relishing in the soothing coolness.

_"Water."_ The thought brought him up short. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was a missile hit. He didn't know how long ago that was, how long he was out, but from what he could see, the ship has taken quite a few more hits since then. Whenever _then_ was.

The room that he was in was a mess of twisted, smoldering metal, plumes of thick, acrid smoke obscuring the worst of the damage. Crisp ocean air flooded in unhindered through a large gaping hole in the side of the ship several feet away.

And what was worse, water, the stuff that is meant to stay on the outside of the vessel, now seemed to have found its way inside. Granted, it wasn't a large amount. Likely a hit that came close enough to the waterline that some water was blown inside from the force of the explosion. Not enough to give cause to any serious alarm, though. Not yet. The ship was still afloat. Still, he didn't think that staying in here much longer would be smart, considering the ship's ultimate destination was still the bottom of the ocean. And since he was never overly fond of confined spaces, especially of dying inside one, he'd better hurry and make his way up top.

Decision made, he brought his abused hand back up, reaching for the lowest rung of the ladder that was now much closer to him than he had remembered. It looked to be a lot worse for wear, too - twisted and squashed to nearly half its size up at the top, where another big chunk of metal (maybe even the one that ended up on top of him) must have crashed. Still, if he could find enough strength in him to hold on, he could make it through that portion with no problems.

The metal rubbed harshly against the burned skin, as he grabbed hold of it, and he hissed sharply, clenching his teeth once more against the pain. _"Get a move on, McGarrett!" _

Slowly, tortuously he pulled himself upright, holding on to the ladder for dear life, as his traitorously weak body swayed and trembled violently with the strain.

He didn't know how long his strength was going to hold out. He didn't know if the next hit would take out the very section of the ship he was in. But he did know one thing: he was getting the hell out of this metal grave and taking his chances in the water.

* * *

TBC (hopefully soon)


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N Another long break (sigh). I'm sorry, I just can't seem to catch a break from work lately. This chapter is as much as I can do at the moment. It's not much, but it moves the action along (enough, I hope). **

**Thank you, as always, for your thoughts and prodding. They really do keep me going. Thank you!**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

**"You never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from."**  
**― Cormac McCarthy, _No Country for Old Men_**

Luck, good or bad, is relative. People often curse their luck, not knowing that a blown tire that prevented them from getting to work on time also saved them from getting into a terrible multi-car pile-up a few blocks away. Not suspecting that a bad case of flue that kept them from going on a long-awaited trip overseas also spared them from sharing the fate of the other 'lucky' passengers on their flight, who perished in a plane crash.

Lucky was not a word Steve McGarrett would have used to describe himself, when his torn, bloodied right leg gave out from under him for the n-th time, and the blistered skin on the palm of his one good hand ripped raw under repeated pressure, causing his fingers to slip on the cold, blood-covered metal.

He crashed backward onto the unforgiving floor, a desperate cry of pain and frustration dying in the suffocating air around him. The hatch, obscured by wisps of gray smoke, seemed unattainable now; his strength depleted on a fruitless battle, his battered body wanting nothing more than to give in to the crushing, nauseating pain. To...just...give...up...

His vision tunneled, darkness encroaching around the edges, sucking out the weakening light. The sounds around him grew muffled, indistinct.

And then suddenly the world above him exploded in a roaring, blinding inferno – the shock wave slamming into him with the force of a runaway tractor trailer; and riding on its crest – a wave of intense, searing heat, singing his hair, scorching his body, filling his starving lungs with rivers of molten lava.

Ears ringing from the deafening bang, eyes blinded by the brilliant flare, he lay flattened on the convulsing floor, helpless like a tiny reed in the eye of a hurricane. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't breathe. He couldn't even raise his arms to protect himself from the burning debris raining down on him from the flame-engulfed ceiling. All he could manage was heed the now deafening call of unconsciousness and surrender to it, becoming, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world.

Steve didn't know how much time has passed, but when he finally resurfaced the infernal flames had already died down, the smoke dissipating just enough to reveal the aftermath. Blinking sluggishly up from his spread-eagled vantage point, Steve couldn't hold back a horrified gasp: the entire section of the ship above him was gone, obliterated in the explosion. Nothing but a huge gaping hole met his hazy vision. The hatch, the upper deck and most of the ladder were vaporized, much like he would be, had he still been standing on that cursed ladder. _Lucky, indeed..._

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

"There she is!" Gutches turned slightly in his seat, calling their attention to a small gray dot on the watery horizon, and the three 5-0 members glued themselves to the helicopter window, peering at the said dot with desperate fervor.

"I can't tell how bad the damage is from here, but she's still afloat, and that's a good sign." The Commander kept quiet about the one thing that was on everyone's mind – the legitimate worry that Steve McGarrett may no longer be alive.

The ship was looming larger now, its contours becoming more visible, more distinct. And the closer they drew, the more hopeless and terrifying things looked to them from the air. The nose section of the ship was completely obliterated, and only charred, jagged remains of the formerly smooth, metal lines hung mournfully over the unusually serene waters. Two more gaping holes – (one - barely above the waterline) – ravaged the left side of the vessel. A part of the upper deck next to the captain's bridge was destroyed as well – carved out like a piece of a Thanksgiving turkey with a badly sharpened knife.

Clammy palm pressed flat against the cool glass, Danny stared with an ever-growing sense of dread at the torn, smoking heap of metal that rocked gently on the feeble waves ahead of them.

_Steve was there. Steve was in __**that**_**. **And the insane, desperate hope of finding his friend alive, the hope that was renewed when he climbed aboard the helicopter, was crumbling like the proverbial house of cards.

"Listen, Danny," Chin's fingers curled around his shoulder, offering reassurance but providing none, "if anyone can make it..." The older man trailed off, giving him a pointed look, and the blond dipped his head numbly in acquiescence.

"I know, I ...know..."

"Sir," the pilot yelled out, pulling his headset back slightly and throwing a quick glance at Gutches, "We're being hailed by the Enterprise. They're telling us to, quote, get the hell out of the exercise zone."

The Commander nodded, wordlessly grabbing another headset. "This is Lt. Commander Wade Gutches, requesting emergency halt to the exercise. We may have a man on board the Kilauea."

A few tense seconds of silence followed, while the helicopter hovered a mere hundred or so feet away from its intended target, and then Gutches nodded sharply to the pilot, indicating permission to go ahead. "Sir, thank you, Sir!"

Beside him Kono let out a soft sigh of relief, and Danny closed his eyes briefly, loosening his death grip on the seat cushion. _"They've stopped firing," _his mind cheered. _"They are letting us through."_

He shifted his gaze back to the crippled vessel, trying to peer through the slowly dissipating smoke, as if somehow hoping to spot Steve there on the upper deck, waving at them, ready to jump into the helicopter like the Super SEAL that he is.

The chopper hovered just above the torn up deck, making no move to descend, and Danny tore his gaze away from the window, glancing anxiously at the pilot.

"What's going on?" he hollered over the loud roar of the blades. "Why aren't we landing?"

"Can't land." It was Gutches, who responded, shaking his head grimly, even as he motioned something to the pilot.

"What do you mean **'can't land'**?" the Jersey native barked out, Chin's hand on his shoulder – the only thing preventing him from jumping out of his seat. "What the–"

"There's too much damage on the upper deck," Gutches cut in, interrupting the imminent explosion. "The chopper is too heavy - even if we manage to get it down, with that hole by the waterline, it might force the boat to dip low enough for the water to rush in."

"So, what, are you just gonna turn back now?" Kono snapped beside him, and Danny could have kissed her right then and there, because his own throat had just about closed up at the absurdity of it all.

Heart beating frantically in his chest like a bird trapped in netting, he watched, as the two remaining SEALs got up from their seats and began attaching a rope to the hook at the open helicopter door.

"Combs and Dyer are going to drop down to the boat, see if they can find him and get him up here," Gutches explained, and for Danny that was the call to action.

"I'm going with them," he shot up from his seat, throwing Chin's restraining hand off him and moving determinedly to the door.

Gutches stood too, then, blocking his path, his features twisted into an angry scowl. "You ever rappelled out of a helicopter, Williams? It's not the same as climbing down the rope in gym class, you know. Last thing I need is to have some cop splatter his brains all over the deck of a Navy ship."

"I'll hold on tightly, then," Danny retorted, the blue eyes blazing with dangerous desperation. "No way I'm staying up here." He took another step forward, standing virtually nose to nose with the thickset Commander.

"Brah...," Kono called out behind him, her voice shaking slightly with fear and concern. "Maybe you should–"

"I gotta know, Kono," he ground out, never taking his eyes off Gutches. "I just... I gotta...".

Jaws clamped tight in disapproval, the Navy Commander stared down at him for a split second more, and then a flash of something - a grudging respect - flickered in the harshly narrowed eyes. Turning to one of the SEALs, he barked, "Combs, strap this guy to you. He's coming along."

"Sir?" The SEAL froze, his hand already on the rope, ready to slide down.

"It's his partner down there, Combs," Gutches explained gruffly and placed a hand on Danny's shoulder, shoving him a bit harshly in the direction of the SEAL. "Just... take him down."

The SEAL shrugged his assent. "Aye, Sir."

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

Rhythmic thump-thump-thump of helicopter blades waded into his muddled consciousness, bringing with it an unpleasant jolt of apprehension. A helicopter wouldn't need to be this close to the ship to fire a missile. Which meant... Castillo! Castillo was back.

Had Steve been thinking clearly, had his head not been pounding so hard that his skull felt like it could crack open at any moment, he would have probably realized that there was no way Castillo could have flown back into a live fire zone. Not without drawing the attention of the entire participating fleet. Not unless he found a way to make his helicopter invisible.

As it were, however, his mind was far from clear, and the thought of Castillo returning to verify his demise himself or to finish the job urged him to action.

Gritting his teeth against the inevitable spike of pain, breathing harshly, raggedly to push back the throat-wrenching nausea, he rolled his body to the side, out of sight of the gaping hole above. And just in time, too, for, moments later, there was a rush of footsteps on the upper deck, and then someone's shadow lay across the very spot where he had been only seconds ago.

As quietly as he could, Steve picked up the closest piece of debris – a heavy, twisted piece of railing – and, using it as support, pulled himself shakily up to a semi-standing position. An attempt to straighten out fully, however, did not end well, as his knees buckled, unable to support his full weight, and to keep himself from falling, he instinctively put out his injured right hand, grabbing hold of the charred bulkhead beside him.

Pain tore through him, vicious and merciless, stealing his breath and ripping a sharp 9-inch knife through the already weakened fabric of his consciousness. He dug his teeth savagely into his lower lip, ignoring the trickle of blood that snaked its way down his chin. His only focus – past the torrent of pain, past the gut-churning nausea – was to stay conscious, to not let Castillo or his men catch him at his weakest.

Words, disjointed and broken, filtered in through the fiery curtain that had engulfed his mind.

"...no one alive ... there..."

"...heard something..."

"...check ... out..."

He tensed, gripping his improvised weapon tighter, as a human-shaped blob slid carefully down a hastily thrown rope into his smoke-filled space, followed rapidly by another.

Blinking furiously to clear his wavering vision, Steve pushed himself painfully away from the support of the wall and stepped forward, raising his weight-strained arm, ready to strike.

"Steve!" The first blob yelled out into the haze just then, the voice – jarringly familiar. "Steve?!"

Steve halted in mid-movement, the blurry blue eyes narrowing slightly, as his jumbled mind tried to process what he was seeing. And then the blob turned, and the railing clattered to the floor, abandoned, ridiculous, useless.

"Danny..."

* * *

TBC

It's short, but, any thoughts?


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N **Okay, so here I am, apologizing once again to all of you for making you wait and for being slack with responding to all your wonderful reviews. You've been so incredibly patient and supportive, and I left you hanging. Not intentionally, mind you, but still...

Well, I decided to blow off work for one day and finish up one more chapter before I fall so completely behind that everyone (including myself) forgets the storyline. It's a short chapter, but it's the big rescue that many of you have been waiting for for so long, so, hopefully, you'll enjoy ;)

**A/N2** Again, thank you, thank you, thank you for all your wonderful reviews and comments! I know I'm not very good about responding to you in a timely fashion, but, please, know that any comment is read and greatly appreciated! Please keep them coming. I would love to hear your thoughts (and I will try to respond, even if not right away).

* * *

**Chapter 8**

_"And there in the field stood a pillar, and on the pillar these words were written: _

_Whosoever goes from this pillar on the road straight before him will be cold and hungry. _

_Whosoever goes to the right side will be safe and sound, but his horse will be killed. _

_And whosoever goes to the left side will be killed himself, but his horse will be safe and sound." _

_- From a Russian folk tale_

Choices. Life is filled with them. Most are trivial: casual or formal? coffee or tea? ketchup or mustard? left or right?

And then, sometimes, the choices you make amount to a sentence on your own life or someone else's – the Roman-Coliseum-style thumbs up or thumbs down, live or die.

When his short yet breath-robbing drop to the deck of the ship ended with a sharp jolt, Danny, too, found himself faced with choices.

Choosing to go left instead of right – sprinting toward the still smoldering hole that ripped open the steel plating, leaving charred jagged edges that rose grotesquely up to the smoke-filled sky in silent warning.

Choosing to ignore the SEALs' sharply baked out command to follow them: "Keep it moving, Williams. No one alive down there."

Choosing to let a lie roll easily off his tongue: "I heard something. I gotta check it out." _Or maybe it wasn't a lie at all?_

He slid down into the hole, blinking to adjust to the sudden smothering gloom that surrounded him. Twisted, unrecognizable shapes crowded him on all sides, their broken, fire-scorched claw-like limbs reaching toward him like some wounded souls, begging for release. Coughing viciously in response to the gray acrid smoke that swirled around him, stuffy and suffocating, Danny squinted his watering eyes, trying to see his way through the mayhem.

Vaguely he heard one of the SEALs slide down to stand beside him, even as he moved to take his first hesitant step away from, what he could only assume, used to be a ladder.

"Steve!" he bellowed, listening desperately, as his call bounced unanswered off the metal walls.

"Steve?!" he tried again, and nearly jumped out of his skin, when he heard a soft shuffle behind him. He whirled and froze, staring wide-eyed at the tall figure that stood wobbling unsteadily inches away from the wall on the other side of this mangled, twisted room.

Something fell to the floor with a loud, hollow clatter; the barely audible whisper of "Danny" slipped forth and became suspended in mid-air, tangled in the smoky veil that separated them.

"Steve," Danny stepped forward then, shaking off his momentary stupor, and then a step turned into a desperate lunge, when he saw his friend sway precariously on his feet.

Danny didn't make it. His fingers clenched futilely around empty air, as McGarrett finally lost his hopeless battle with gravity, falling weakly backward against the wall, his back crashing into it with a dull thud, and slid down bonelessly onto the floor.

Half a heartbeat later, Danny dropped to his knees before him, ignoring the protesting flare of pain in his bad knee.

"Steve. Steve!" he called out urgently, running his hands up and down the sodden clothing, hoping, desperately hoping that not all of the wetness he felt was blood and cursing the still thick smoke around them that made it impossible to see for sure.

Steve sat quietly through his at times overly energetic prodding, leaning against the smoke-blackened wall, his eyes drooping to a tired half-mast. But then, suddenly, Danny's hands were on either side of his face, lifting it gently but urgently, and Steve pulled his gaze upward as well. The dark blue eyes – slightly unfocused and unnaturally bright against the soot and grime that covered every inch of his face – locked sluggishly with Danny's, and a poor semblance of a smile twisted his blood-stained lips.

"Poetic... isn't it...?" he gasped out, hoarse and breathless. "Dying... SEAL ...in a ... d-dying ...ship"

The obscene amount of effort it seemed to take his friend to utter these words, and the calm, resigned acceptance he saw in the pain-clouded eyes felt like a punch in the gut, and Danny clamped down sharply on the once again spiking fear, gripping the former SEAL even tighter in response, pulling him toward him.

"Nobody will dying here today, Steven, you understand?" he whispered fiercely, frowning when he saw the other man give him a barely perceptible shake of his head.

"Y-you sh-should... go, Danny...," the former SEAL managed, his breaths becoming more and more labored, "...not... safe here..."

A fraction of a second later, Steve's eyes slid closed and he sagged weakly in Danny's grip, his head dropping limply onto his partner's shoulder.

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

Danny wasn't sure how much time had passed between the time that Steve lost consciousness and the moment they were all lifted back into the helicopter, his friend strapped securely in a rescue basket.

He suddenly became aware that they were moving, as cold draft brushed unpleasantly against his damp shirt, making his shiver. _Wait, damp? Why was he damp?_ Puzzled, he looked down at the blue fabric, frowning at the dark wet stain that covered most of his right side. _His right_. Where Steve bumped into him, when he became unconscious. Where he was holding Steve against him, while they waited on the upper deck for the basket to be lowered down to them from the chopper. Blood. Steve's blood. Danny's shirt was soaked in it.

Danny shivered again, though this time the sensation had nothing to do with the cold air, and shifted his position next to the basket, trying in vain to get more comfortable on the floor of a military helicopter. He refused to move away, though. For some strange, inexplicable reason, he felt he needed to stay close to Steve, to keep an eye on him, lest these past few minutes turn out to be nothing more than a figment of his imagination, lest he should blink and find that Steve was no longer there.

His hand was still wrapped tightly around Steve's lax one, only now he suddenly became aware of the odd sticky wetness against his palm. Pulling his hand away, he hissed sharply at the damage that opened before him – the raw, bleeding wound that was his friend's palm. There was more blood – scrapes, deep and ugly – travelling up his wrist and disappearing under a thin metal ring that encircled it. _Handcuffs. _And somehow it was the sight of those handcuffs – that seemingly innocuous piece of metal – that broke the dam holding Danny's emotions in check.

"Keys," he bit out hoarsely, feeling his throat constrict painfully under the sudden onslaught of suffocating, impotent rage.

"Danny?" Kono's worried voice sounded above his ear, and he felt her slide down onto the floor beside him, her hand landing gently onto his shoulder.

"I need keys," he repeated, desperately fighting to maintain control over his traitorously shaking voice. "I need to get this off him! I need–"

"Here," a pair of handcuff keys was shoved into his palm, and Danny took it, shaking fingers fumbling helplessly with the lock.

"Fuck!"

A delicate tanned hand covered his, stilling its erratic movements. "Here, let me."

Danny surrendered the keys back to her, slumping weakly against the seat behind him, watching her gently remove the handcuffs from around Steve's wrist.

"He cuffed him," the blond mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief, as she turned back to face him. "The bastard cuffed him. Wasn't enough that he left him on that ship to die, he–" Danny broke off, feeling his throat seize once more, and Kono's hand was on him again, warm, sympathetic.

"You got him out, Danny," the Rookie leaned into his space, making sure to catch the anguished pale blue eyes. "It's going to be okay. **He **is going to be okay. You hear?"

Danny managed a nod, flicking another gaze at the slack soot-covered face of his partner. "I'm gonna get that son of a bitch," he promised suddenly, his voice dark and fierce, and was not in the least surprised when two voices chimed in simultaneously, countering his oath.

"We all will. Together."

* * *

TBC

Sorry it's so short - all I had time for, unfortunately. Let me know your thoughts. Please?


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N Well, I'm behind on all of my PMs again. Seems to be a recurring theme with me. So sorry! I am extremely grateful for all your comments, I just don't always have time to respond to all of you. Thank you!**

**Disclaimer: (sigh) not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Danny's thumb rubbed nervously on the empty spot on his ring finger, apprehension and worry-filled eyes trailing over the blood-spattered scrubs of the man before him.

He tried not to think about the fact that all that blood was Steve's. He tried not to read too much into the surgeon's grim, weary expression. He tried to keep his mind from going back to the heart-stopping image of the SEAL medic scrambling to pump air into his friend's deathly still chest.

He failed. And his voice trembled pathetically, when he forced out the question about his partner's status.

"Detective," the surgeon began, his voice raspy, bone-tired. It's a small wonder, too, after a 6-hour surgery.

Then again, Danny wasn't feeling all that sprightly either. And neither did the two people standing on either side of him – their hands on his shoulders - the only things preventing him from losing it altogether, from bolting out of that suffocatingly small conference room and running, running. Running until his partner's tortured, broken body was no longer the only image he saw whenever he closed his eyes.

"Please," he interrupted hoarsely, begging – yes, begging, and he didn't care at that point – "just tell us if he's going to be okay."

The doctor gave him a look full of sympathy, and Danny felt a strong urge to punch him.

"Commander McGarrett has made it through surgery," came the cautious reply. "His condition remains critical, however."

"What's-," he choked on the word, swallowing harshly against a suddenly parched throat, "what's happening to him?"

The man before him sighed tiredly, gesturing to the seats next to the disproportionately large table that took up almost the entirety of the room. His audience ignored the gesture, however, opting to remain standing, and the doctor shook his head in resignation, lowering himself painfully into the closest chair.

"We ran into some trouble with the Commander's abdominal injury," he began; the pale gray eyes slowly gliding over the three anxious faces above him before settling on Danny's. "The bullet pierced his abdomen in the left upper quadrant and became lodged in his spleen, and the Commander suffered significant blood loss as a result. His condition was further complicated by his other injuries and compromised lungs. And with the additional stress of surgery..." the doctor trailed off, his hand twisting in the air in a gesture of tired helplessness before dropping bonelessly back onto the tabletop.

"Your friend arrested twice before we were able to stabilize him," he finished wearily, gazing downward at the fingers of his right hand that were drumming a restless rhythm against the polished wood.

"But he's stable now, right? He's going to be okay?" The urgency and desperation in Danny's voice were unmistakable, and, _no_, he didn't care how shaky his voice sounded or how bad of a death grip his white-knuckled fingers had on the edge of the table, because, _dammit_, he needed to know. He **just** needed to know.

"He's stable for now, yes," the doctor nodded, though somewhat hesitantly. "We removed his spleen, replaced about 2 liters of blood. He required stitches on some of the deeper cuts above his right knee. There are also extensive burns on the right knee area and on his left palm. Those will require skin grafts. However we won't be able to do anything about them until the Commander is strong enough for the procedure."

The man fell silent again, chewing pensively on his lower lip, as he carefully considered his next words. He didn't wish to discourage them, but, at the same time, they had the right to know what to expect. "Right now our biggest concern is infection," he said finally, the pale gray eyes once again settling on Danny. "No spleen means the Commander is a lot more susceptible to them. His lungs have been damaged by smoke, and that raises the risk of pneumonia."

Shaking his head at Danny's unspoken question, the doctor concluded, "Commander McGarrett is very weak right now. Pneumonia can be deadly under any circumstances, but it is especially dangerous for someone with his level of injuries."

"So you're saying he could still die?" Kono whispered out the words that Danny could not bring himself to say.

"If he develops pneumonia, there is a very good chance that he could, yes."

The words were brutal in their honesty, and Danny was wholly unprepared for the sudden rush of despair that plowed through him, making his knees wobble. And then sitting down suddenly no longer seemed like a bad idea, as the Jersey detective all but fell into the previously offered chair, no longer trusting his traitorous limbs to hold him upright.

"Steve's a fighter," Danny countered stubbornly, but the conviction he tried to convey felt as shaky as his legs.

"He is," the surgeon nodded again, allowing himself the tiniest of smiles. "I've seen it first-hand in my OR. And we will be constantly monitoring his condition and doing everything we can to help him avoid complications. And that will include limiting the number of visitors, requesting that everyone wash their hands and put on clean scrubs prior to entering his room, and asking anyone who comes in contact with a sick individual to refrain from coming to visit the Commander for a few days."

A chorus of "we understand's" accompanied his last statement, followed by Danny's timid, "When can we see him?"

The doctor threw a quick evaluative glance at Danny's blood and grime covered clothing and shook his head in disapproval. "Commander McGarrett is being settled in ICU as we speak. But, in light of what we had just discussed, I would recommend that you all go home, take a good shower," he nodded pointedly at Danny, "maybe catch a quick nap. When you come back, go to this same floor, the Intensive Care Unit. A nurse will be there to help prep you for your visit." He stood up slowly, glancing down at his own blood-spattered scrubs. "If you'll excuse me, I still have a few surgeries lined up for today. I need to get ready."

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

Danny shifted slightly in a vain attempt to find a more comfortable position on a contraption that could rival the inquisitional chair. Wincing at the unpleasant pull of his cramping muscles and resigning himself to the futility of his efforts, he watched with wary desperation as two nurses worked methodically over his partner's still form.

He has observed this same procedure numerous times before, every two hours, like clockwork. They would come in, disconnect Steve's ventilator and replace it with a manual resuscitation bag. Then one of them would begin pumping – squeeze, hold for 2 seconds or so, then release and repeat, while the other performed chest compressions from the moment the bag was squeezed all through the release. This would go on for several minutes, then they would reconnect the tube, check the readings and leave. For another 2 hours.

Cough simulation they called it. To help clear Steve's airway, since the man couldn't cough out the remaining smoke debris and mucus on his own. To prevent pneumonia.

And it seemed to be working, too. Steve's color had improved. He began breathing easier. There was even talk about taking him off the ventilator. But this was Steve. And Steve never did anything the easy way.

Two days after the surgery, following the now routine series of tests, the doctor pulled Danny aside and gave him the feared news. Steve's fever was not going down. The blood work and the latest chest X-ray all pointed to the same thing – pneumonia.

"We caught it early," the doctor assured, "and the Commander has been on the mend, so there's a good chance that with the right antibiotics he will pull through."

Danny nodded absently, his eyes sliding back to the man in bed, now virtually completely obscured from him by an army of nurses.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. The doctor's quiet suggestion that he go home and get some rest, the cautious reassurance that they will do everything they can to save his friend.

He shook his head mutely. He was staying. No way he was going to leave **now**, when his idiot of a partner was hell-bent on putting himself (and him, Danny, too, while at it) into an early grave.

_"Fight this, Steven! Fight, damn you. Or I swear to God, I'm gonna find a way to resurrect you just so I can kill you myself!"_

Hands fisted tightly inside his pockets, he sat defiantly back down into his chair and settled in for the long wait.

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

Six days. Six days was what it took before the doctor finally declared that his stubborn patient was on the mend. Six days of fingernail-biting tension that had all hospital personnel give Danny a wide berth, lest the diminutive detective should bite their heads off. Six days of tentative hope mixed with dark, suffocating quagmire of despair.

Chin and Kono came by every day, forcing him to get out and clear his head for at least a few hours. He obeyed, for his sanity as much as for theirs. For they were still a team, and they needed to keep it together, because they still had a job to do. Castillo was still out there, somewhere, and none of their leads were getting them anywhere.

Catherine came by, too. For three days straight, until her shore leave was up, and she was forced to return to her ship.

She didn't say a word during her visits. Just sat there, crying quietly in the corner, watching Steve breathe.

Danny didn't speak to her either. He couldn't. He was afraid that if he so much as opened his mouth, he would say something he would regret.

It wasn't her fault, he knew it. Logically, that is. She had no way of knowing, no more than anybody else on their ship. Hell, she wasn't even at the firing controls.

Still in his heart Danny couldn't help but wonder if she shouldn't have felt something somehow. She was in love with the man, after all, wasn't she? Shouldn't she have known? He knew when something was wrong, and so did Chin, and Kono. They all felt it. Why didn't **she**?

"Danny?" Catherine's timid voice, so sudden in the strained, days-long silence, tore him away from his dark thoughts, and the blond tensed, tilting his head slightly in her direction, but still refusing to turn around. "Danny, please, I know you probably hate me right now, and... and you have every right to – God knows, I hate myself..."

She trailed off, her voice, filled with guilt and self-recrimination, hitching slightly, and Danny dug his fingers deeper into the arm rests of his chair to fight the urge to turn around and face her.

"My ship is leaving in a few hours," she continued softly, head hung low in desperation, "I won't be able to come back for the next few months, at the very least. I... I just need to know that he'll be okay. Will you–?"

"I'll call you," Danny interrupted her hoarsely, as he pushed himself forcibly out of the chair and took a small reluctant step toward the distraught woman. "I'll let you know when things change."

Catherine squeezed her eyes shut briefly in relief. "Thank you." A moment later she returned her gaze to him, her large brown eyes filled with anguished tears and so much pain that Danny felt like the backside of an ass for giving her the silent treatment.

"Will you tell him I'm sorry? Please?"

Danny shook his head vigorously, fiercely, closing the distance between them in one swift move. "You didn't do this. Okay?" He spoke quickly, not giving her a chance to respond. "I've been blaming you, yes, but I've also been blaming myself, the punks who got us into this mess, and the entire US Navy." He sighed, running a shaky hand through his hopelessly tousled hair. "And all because," he finished raspily, "...all because I couldn't get my hands on the one person who really deserves it. I'm sorry."

She nodded mutely in acknowledgement, her throat too constricted to speak.

"I'll call you," he promised again, as she turned to leave. And as the door closed behind her, he walked slowly back toward the deathly-still, feverish form of his friend.

"Please, Steven, for once in your life, I'm begging you, please, please, **please**, stop making everything so hard, stop fighting the goddamn drugs and let them help you. Please let me see those baby blues again."

Three days later Danny got his wish.

* * *

TBC

Well, the next chapter is the hunt for Castillo. Oh, and, just so there are no misunderstandings, no, I am not done whumping yet (evil grin)

Let me know your thoughts. Pretty please?


	11. Chapter 11

A/N Another long wait. I'm sorry. I really appreciate the fact that you, guys, are still sticking with the story. Thank you for all your encouraging words! They work wonders in brightening my day. And a special thank you to those who posted reviews as guests. I'm sorry I couldn't reply to you - the system wouldn't let me, but I do thank you for taking the time to post comments.

Oh, and I do apologize if there was any confusion regarding the numbering of the chapters. The numbers are off because the first chapter in the story was titled "Prologue" and not "Chapter 1". The system, however, starts its numbering with "Chapter 1" and, as far as I know, there's no way to change that. I didn't think it was a big deal, but if it bothers anyone, I apologize.

Okay, done now :) On with the story. I hope you like it.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Their first real lead on Castillo came two days after Steve's skin graft surgery, when the former SEAL – still nearly plaster pale and worryingly weak – was being treated to his very first visit from one Grace Williams. The little girl was virtually jumping with excitement at finally being allowed to see her Uncle Steve. She has been asking to visit him for weeks, but Danny was reluctant to bring her by before, worried about how she might react to seeing the Super SEAL this vulnerable. Now that the worst seemed to be behind him and Steve was finally and truly on the mend, Danny decided to risk it. And Grace, bless her little heart, put on her very best outfit, armed herself with a folder-full of get-well drawings that she had begun making ever since she found out that her Uncle Steve had been hurt, and bounced into Steve's hospital room with enough ebullient energy to power up a good little platoon of Energizer Bunnies.

She had been chattering non-stop ever since, plopped down on Steve's bed, as close to him as she dared, and Danny couldn't help a small tender smile that tugged at the corners of his lips, as he watched his clearly exhausted partner valiantly fight to keep his eyes open, refusing to disappoint his little monkey by giving in to the clutches of sleep.

Taking pity on the bleary-eyed, barely-suppressing-a-yawn SEAL, Danny was about to suggest that Gracie and he go home and let Steve rest for the night, when his phone, which has been blissfully silent all through the visit, suddenly blasted to life with a loud rendition of the theme song from "The Dukes of Hazzard". This was it – the phone call he'd been waiting for quite impatiently for weeks, and Danny whipped the device out of his pocket with all the impatience of a man obsessed.

"Yeah, Duke? What have you got?"

He listened intently for several minutes, his lips pulling into a tight pallid line.

"Good, that's... good," he blurted out finally, running a nervous hand through the blond mop of hair. "I'll get the team together and meet you there."

Shoving the phone back into his pant pocket, Danny shifted his gaze to the now fully awake SEAL, who was watching him with undisguised apprehension in the dark blue eyes.

"Listen, uhm, Steve... something came up," he began hesitantly, suddenly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his partner's piercing stare.

"Castillo?" the dark-haired man asked quietly, because there was something decidedly feral in Danny's expression, as he hung up the phone.

The Jersey native flinched at the name, his gaze darkening with undisguised hatred. "I'll... uhm... I'll need to leave for a little bit," he continued, pointedly ignoring the question, "and Rachel's out of town, and–"

"I'll watch Grace," Steve offered quickly, cutting off any further explanations. "Just let the nurses know."

"Yeah," Danny nodded distractedly, placing a gentle hand on top of his daughter's head, absently ruffling the dark hair.

"Danno?"

Grace sounded uncertain, scared even, and Danny bent swiftly down toward her, hands cupping the smooth little face, lifting it so he was staring straight into two large watery pools of brown.

"Danno needs to go put some bad guys in jail, Monkey. I'll be back real soon, though." He pulled his eyebrows together, making a serious face. "You think you can take care of uncle Steve for me, while I'm away? Make sure he doesn't do anything he's not supposed to?"

The little girl nodded, matching the mock seriousness of his expression with a real one of his own.

"Excellent," Danny smiled tensely at her and turned his gaze back to his bed-ridden partner. "I'll be back soon," he promised, and moved to leave.

"Danny..." Steve's voice stopped him short, hand hovering above the door handle. He glanced back, frowning at the grave, worried expression on the former SEAL's face.

"Yes, Steven?"

Steve locked eyes with him briefly, mouth open as if about to say something. Indecision played across his face, flickering like a candle. In the end, whatever it was that he really wanted to say, he let it go. "Just... be careful, okay?"

And Danny nodded, putting as much reassurance in the gesture as he could muster. "Always."

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

Detective Daniel Williams pulled his car to a stop a few feet away from a nondescript one-storey building that stood partially hidden behind a row of thick vegetation that lined the side of the Kamehameha Highway. Pulling his vest out of the trunk, he headed straight for the impressive line of police vehicles surrounding the property, waving at the balding older Hawaiian who turned to greet him.

"What have we got, Duke?"

"This is one of Castillo's hiding spots," the sergeant offered with a brief nod. "According to our informant, Castillo returned here last night and hasn't left since."

"And this informant, how reliable is he?"

Duke gave him a noncommittal shrug. "He's in Castillo's inner circle. We assume the information is credible."

"Assume, huh," Danny echoed grimly.

"It's all we've got right now," the older man countered sagely. He waved at a group of police officers behind him, dressed in SWAT gear. "My men are ready to go, Detective. Just give the signal."

"Ready, Danny?" Kono walked briskly toward them, her step light and bouncing with impatience, as she slipped on her vest.

He nodded sharply, tightening his vest straps. "Let's do this."

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

A pair of dark intense eyes observed the commotion outside through a small slit between a tightly drawn shield of blinds. A moment later the two parted slats snapped back into place, and the man behind them pulled away from the window, turning to the darkened figure in the far corner of the room.

"Looks like they're getting ready to storm in," he observed calmly.

The man in the back of the room stood up slowly, crossing the distance to the window with relaxed, measured steps. "And Five-0?" he asked simply, as he, too, leaned forward slightly to peer through the blinds.

His companion nodded deferentially. "Si. Showed up a couple minutes ago."

"Good." The man smiled unkindly, clapping the other on the shoulder. "You've done well, Teo." Reaching into his pant pocket, he pulled out a small, black, plastic box, lovingly fingering the innocuous-looking red button near its top.

"Showtime."

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

With Danny's little girl nestled comfortably against his side, Steve lay quietly in the still semi-darkness of his hospital room, listening to the soft, even sounds of her breathing, trying to let those sounds calm the flames of worry that raged in his gut. He was failing miserably. Castillo was slippery as a snake and as dangerous as they come. Second, perhaps, only to Wo Fat. They have already managed to underestimate him twice with disastrous consequences. The man slithered away from right under their noses, killed a civilian, left him, Steve, to die. And now Danny was out there, alone, going after Castillo, and Steve couldn't help the tight pinch of worry that gripped his heart at the thought.

A small voice of reason behind the panic reminded Steve that Danny wasn't alone, that Chin and Kono were there watching his back, as was the HPD, but fear retorted cruelly that having the team there didn't stop Castillo from shooting and kidnapping him a few weeks ago.

Fear won out. And Steve ground his teeth together in a feeble attempt to clamp down on the overwhelming urge to bolt out of bed and do something – anything – to get rid of the nauseating feeling of helplessness.

His cell phone jumped to life, buzzing and vibrating on the nearby table. He reached for it hungrily, wincing at the pull of stitches that accompanied the movement.

"McGarrett."

"Hey, Rambo," his partner's tired voice came over the line, and Steve closed his eyes, feeling almost dizzy with relief.

"Danny," he breathed out, trying to keep the shakiness out of his voice. "Thank god!"

A soft chuckle carried across the phone line. "Is that concern I hear, McGarrett?"

The light-hearted echo of his own teasing words did its job, and Steve felt the tension drain away, seeping noiselessly into the surrounding gloom.

"It's just... it's good to hear your voice," he admitted sheepishly.

"Right," Williams drawled out, his tone gently mocking. "Well, I'll be by shortly, and you can express your feelings to me in person."

Steve shook his head, his lips pulling into an amused smile. "Looking forward to it," he jested in kind. "How did everything go?"

There was a brief silence on the other end, a moment of hesitation, and Steve felt the sharp tentacles of fear bite once again into his gut. "Danny?"

"It's over... I think."

"You think?"

"Well," Danny's voice faltered momentarily, "the house that Castillo was in exploded just as we were moving in."

"Exploded."

"Yep. Giant ball of fire, huge chunks of fine Hawaiian architecture flying in every direction, the works."

"Anybody hurt?" he asked cautiously, and his grip on the phone tightened involuntarily, as he heard the other man sigh.

"We lost two officers. Got too close to the blast," Danny replied quietly, his voice heavy with exhaustion, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut in anguish. _"Damn..."_

"And Kono got–"

"Kono?" worry felt icy-cold on his tongue.

"No, no, she's okay," Danny hurried to reassure him, more than likely picking up on the poorly disguised panic in his voice. "She just got clipped by one of those super-flying chunks. Got a nasty bump on her head. She's okay, though. The EMTs are taking her to the hospital to get checked out, and Chin's going with her."

"Detonated from the inside?" Steve was switching into full detective mode now. It was easier that way, clamping down on the worry, the anguish about the lives lost, locking it all away.

"Best we figure," Danny responded, and Steve could almost see him shrug at that. "We won't know anything for sure until the forensics have a chance to comb through the scene. And it's a bit too hot for them right now - that thing is still smoldering."

Steve nodded, even though Danny couldn't see him. "And Castillo?"

"The building was surrounded. No way he could have gotten out without someone noticing." There was another pause, and then Danny added cautiously, "We'll see what the forensics say, though."

"Right," Steve nodded again and fell silent, the feeling of unease growing in the pit of his stomach despite his best efforts to trample it down. _Castillo wasn't a fool. Everything he had done was carefully and methodically planned out. He wouldn't leave anything to chance. Which meant the explosion wasn't an accident. And, if so, why would he let himself be blown up? Unless..._

"Listen," Danny spoke up again, interrupting his train of thought. "I'm wrapping things up with the HPD folks here, and I'm gonna head back to you, guys. I'll see you soon."

"See you, Danny," he echoed distractedly, ending the call.

The soft blue light of the display screen faded out, once again plunging the room into the sinister, gloomy twilight. Grace shivered slightly beside him, and Steve reached down carefully, tucking his sheet tighter around her small body. Shifting his gaze in the direction of the hallway, he listened closely for any sounds, the dark blue eyes narrowing in concentration.

Through the partially frosted glass panel he could see the lone silhouette of the guard that Danny had insisted on posting outside his door. The man sat leaning against the glass, head hanging limply on his chest, likely asleep.

Everything was quiet, still, at peace. And so he lay back down, letting his eyes slide closed, willing himself to relax.

* * *

TBC

So, peace and quiet, right? And not a cloud on the horizon. Or is there... ? Mwahaha!


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the kind words on this last chapter. I guess I didn't fool anyone with my peaceful ending (must have been that evil laugh I couldn't hold in)**

**Many of you expressed your fear that the guard may already be dead. Well, he wasn't when Steve last looked at him. Now however.. **

**This chapter is smaller, but I figured I'd better post it before RL strikes again. I hope you enjoy. As always, let me know your thoughts.  
**

**Disclaimer: I keep forgetting to mention that they're not mine. Never were, never will be (sigh)**

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Steve was jolted awake by a sudden, cripplingly nauseating sense of danger. Bolting upright in his bed, he glanced frantically around the room, seeking out the reason for the alarm. Nothing seemed out of place, however, and he shifted his gaze to the door, peering closely at the pale, washed out patch of light that could be seen behind the frosted glass door.

The reassuring silhouette of the guard was no longer there. The place he occupied was ominously empty. Instead, muffled sounds were heard coming from the hallway – two voices speaking in hushed tones, two shadows breaking up the thin strip of light that peaked into the room from underneath the door.

Running his hand down his to chase away the last remnants of sleep, he reached toward the still sleeping girl, shaking her gently on the shoulder.

"Grace. Gracie!" he whispered urgently, bringing a finger up to his lips as soon as he saw her raise her head, blinking up at him in confusion.

"See that closet over there, Sweetheart?" he asked quietly, pointing to a partially open door across from the bed at the other end of the room. "I need you to get in there and close the door behind you. Do NOT come out no matter what you hear. You understand, Gracie?"

Grace stared at him a moment, eyes wide, and then nodded sharply.

"Good girl," he breathed in relief, giving her a gentle shove in the direction of the closet. "Go!"

The door to their room swung open a mere second after Grace's small figure disappeared inside the closet, light flooding in – harsh and blinding.

Steve squinted, raising his arm in a vain attempt to shield his eyes from the sudden assault.

"Commander McGarrett. The man who cannot drown in water," came the familiar mocking voice, and Steve fought the urge to flinch at the reminder, as he watched Castillo stroll insolently into the room, followed by a short heavyset man with chillingly cold, expressionless eyes, a gun clasped firmly in his right hand.

"We must be two of a kind then," Steve retorted, watching the gun hand carefully, " 'cause from what I hear you are the man who cannot burn in fire."

Castillo threw his head back, laughing heartily. "Touché, Commander. Touché." The dark eyes sparkled gleefully, as he took a step closer to the bed. "I must say, however, I was disappointed that you did not take full advantage of the arrangements I have prepared for you. I have put a lot of thought and effort into arranging your demise. And I just hate the idea that it had all gone to waste."

"Well, sorry to have disappointed you," the former SEAL bit back, unconsciously pulling himself up straighter in bed, "but what did you expect me to do, exactly?"

Castillo narrowed his eyes at him briefly, all pretense of mirth gone from his pinched, rat-like face. "Why, Commander, I expected you to go down with the ship, of course."

Folding his arms carefully behind his back, he continued, "I am, however, nothing if not resourceful. When I heard about your unfortunate escape from your watery grave, I started thinking - where did I go wrong? And then I figured it out."

He smiled, a thin, unkind smile. "Your friends. Their importunate nosiness is what landed you here in the hospital instead of the bottom of the ocean, where you belong. So, this time around, I made sure your friends were otherwise occupied."

Steve felt the air in the room grow a few degrees colder. "You lured HPD and Five-0 out there."

Castillo was virtually jumping with delight. "Bravo! Give the man a cookie!" Lowering his head with mock bashfulness, he confessed, "It wasn't all me, of course. I have to give credit to my friend Teo here." He nodded at his stocky companion. "Teo gave an Oscar-worthy performance to HPD. If I hadn't known him better, even I would have been convinced that he was double-crossing me." And the man once again burst out laughing, as though he had found the idea particularly amusing.

"So... now what?" Steve asked tensely, swallowing down his revulsion.

"Now, Commander," Castillo broke off his laughter as abruptly as he began, "I am going to test how well you can fly." Grinning widely at the undisguised confusion in the taller man's eyes, he sought to clarify. "It is very simple, really. I have heard that SEALs are quite proficient at doing high-altitude jumps. You are going to come along with me on a little airplane ride, and I am going to watch you perform one of those jumps for me." He paused, his grin growing wider still. "Without the parachute, of course. Should be fun."

"And if I refuse?"

The Colombian pinched his lips thoughtfully and reached behind him, pulling a gun out of his waistband. Flicking off the safety, he pointed the weapon straight at Steve's head and deadpanned, "Then I will just have to shoot you right here. Along with anyone else who comes running in here because of the noise. I'm counting to three, Commander. If I don't hear an answer that I like, I'm pulling the trigger. One. Two. Thr-"

"No!" a child's frightened scream came from the direction of the closet, and Steve felt his insides turn to ice.

The two intruders turned as one in the direction of the noise, Castillo's eyes brightening with depraved anticipation.

"Well, well, well," he sing-sang, motioning for his man to move over to the now partially-opened closet door. "I didn't realize we had additional audience. This should prove interesting."

The man, Teo, closed his large, hairy hand around the door knob, flinging it open with a great deal more force than necessary. "Out!" he barked, his weapon pointed at the small figure hidden inside.

His breathing stilled to almost nothing, body tense and coiled for action, Steve watched silently, following the other man's movements like a hawk. As Grace's frightened tear-stained face came into the light, and he saw Teo's gun move closer toward her, he shifted forward swiftly, getting ready to pounce.

The muzzle of a gun mere inches from his face stopped him in mid-movement, and he glared at the smirking face behind it.

"Commander, Commander," Castillo tsked in mock disappointment, "you should know better than to try anything like that. You better sit back and relax now, while we have a little chat with your friend here."

"I'm sorry, Uncle Steve, I'm so sorry," the little girl mumbled tearfully, raising her terrified eyes to him, and Steve gritted his teeth in helpless rage.

_"Castillo, you're a dead man,"_ he swore silently. Out loud he countered, "It's alright, Sweetheart. It's gonna be alright."

"Uncle Steve, huh?" Castillo observed mockingly, motioning for Teo to bring the girl closer. "This just keeps getting better and better."

"She has nothing to do with this, Castillo," Steve ground out, his voice dangerously low. "Leave her out of this."

"Oh, but that's too soon to tell, Commander. I still have some questions for the young lady." He turned his attention back to the little girl, who was now pushed close enough toward him that he could grab for her without having to move away from his intended target – the SEAL.

"What is your name, little one?"

"Don't answer that!" Steve warned immediately, even as Grace opened her mouth to reply.

The retribution was swift – the gun swinging in a half-arc toward him, connecting painfully with the side of his head. Steve gasped in pain and surprise, falling back onto the pillows; Grace's anxious call of his name ringing in the air.

"You seem to care for your uncle Steve," Castillo observed calmly, leaning closer to the girl, who shrunk back in fear and revulsion. "If you don't want a repeat of what you just saw, you will tell me your name."

Grace shifted a worried gaze to the man in bed, relieved to see him pull himself back up with a painful grunt. Wincing at the sight of blood that now covered the right side of her favorite uncle's face, the eight-year-old made her decision.

"Grace," she whispered with a slight sniffle, "Grace Williams."

"Williams? Really?" Castillo positively cackled with delight. "How incredibly fortuitous, don't you agree, Commander?"

Steve closed his eyes briefly, fighting back the remnants of dizziness. When he spoke again, his voice was uncannily steady and chillingly, lethally calm.

"You touch one hair on that girl's head, and I will snap your scrawny little neck so fast you won't know what hit you."

Castillo sobered, his eyes growing cold and serious at the threat. Then, as if reevaluating his opponent, he snickered once again, noting, "In your current condition, Commander? I highly doubt you'll be able to get out of bed without outside help."

Steve shrugged. "You could be right," he deadpanned. "But are you willing to bet your life on that?"

There was a moment of hesitation in the dark brown eyes and something akin to apprehension. Then Castillo nodded, as if agreeing to something in his own mind. Motioning to Teo, who immediately pointed his weapon at the girl, he said, "Very well, Commander, have it your way. I give you my word that I will not harm the girl if you come with me now, quietly."

Steve narrowed his eyes at that. "The girl stays."

"No can do, Commander," Castillo shook his head. "I need insurance for your good behavior." Seeing that Steve was about to object, he added firmly, "That is non-negotiable. You come with us, and I promise to let the girl go once we get to the airfield. You resist, and Teo puts a bullet in her head. Well?"

His lips pressed into a tight line, Steve glanced down at Danny's daughter, his heart aching at the sight of her terrified, tear-streaked face.

"I'll come along," he acquiesced hoarsely, carefully swinging his bandaged leg over the side of the bed.

* * *

TBC

Well, as some of you have guessed, Castillo merely used Duke to distract HPD and Five-0. Now he has Steve and Grace all to himself. You think there might be more whump in the forecast?


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N Thank you for such a positive response to the last chapter! You, guys, are amazing readers (and exceptionally motivating, too :-))**

**I hope this chapter does not disappoint. I know I promised whump, and I had this all planned out in my head, but I'm a little unsure of how it actually came out. I would definitely appreciate your thoughts on this. Good? Bad? Makes sense? Not so much? Let me know.**

A/N2 A few weeks ago I overheard my boys playing in the other room. My oldest goes: "Let's play Hawaii Five-0. I'll be Steve." Dear Lord, I think I got my kids addicted to the show they are not even allowed to watch because it's past their bedtime.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

"Detective!" a uniformed officer called out to Danny just as the latter was opening the door to his Camaro, about to get in. "Detective, we have found something. I think you should take a look."

Several moments later, Danny found himself staring incredulously at a couple of uniform-clad officers who were busy clearing the remaining debris off the charred, soot-covered trap door in the middle of what used to be a kitchen.

"You have got to be kidding me," he exclaimed, squatting down in front of it, just as one of the officers lifted up the lid, revealing a long dark tunnel underneath.

"You think he panicked when he saw us closing in?" Duke asked, as he approached the group. "Set up the explosives and escaped through the tunnel?"

Danny shook his head mutely, his face grim as he stared at the flashlight-illuminated hole before him. "Castillo is a planner," he said finally. "If he had an escape route, he could have gotten out any time. Why wait till we get here? Why blow up the house?"

"My guess is he wanted to take out as many of the officers as he could," Duke offered with a shrug.

"Why not wait till we got closer then? Why limit himself to so few casualties?" Danny straightened himself out with a groan, rubbing his bad knee, as he continued to think out loud. "No. This was something else. He brought us out here for a reason. A distraction. He's good at that – distractions. Kidnapping those kids to get himself out of jail, staging a bank heist to get to Steve..." He trailed off suddenly, eyes wide, as a thought – soul-chilling and terrifying – flashed in his mind.

"Contact your man at the hospital," he said urgently, "tell him to move McGarrett to another room."

"You don't think–," the sergeant began and was quickly cut off by Danny's sharp, impatient "Now!"

Several unsuccessful attempts at raising the guard on the radio later, a flustered Duke shifted his gaze back to Danny, shrugging helplessly, "He's not responding."

But Danny was already racing back to the Camaro, praying to whatever gods that would listen that he'd get to the hospital in time.

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

"Put these on, Commander," Castillo said, throwing him a pair of light-blue scrubs. "We don't want you to stand out too much."

He did as he was told, wincing as the stitches in his leg pulled sharply at the, as yet unsanctioned, movement.

"He is not supposed to walk on that leg yet," Grace objected, her voice thin but determined. "Danno says he might rip his stitches."

She shrunk back, hiding behind her uncle's tall form, as Castillo took a large, menacing step toward her.

The former SEAL moved too, planting himself firmly in front of her, glaring daggers at the cartel boss.

"Step the hell back," he growled.

Castillo ignored him, though, his small, beady eyes crinkling in amusement, as he observed the little girl's crushing grip on Steve's pant leg. Squatting down to her level, his gun caressing absently the side of his cheek, he said calmly yet with the kind of coldness that chilled one to the very bones, "By the time I'm done with your uncle Steve, Sweetie, a few ripped stitches will be the last thing he'll have to worry about."

Then, straightening himself back out, he smiled with fake affability and pointed to the door, "Shall we?"

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

The body of their hapless guard lay sprawled near the door: neck bent at an unnatural angle; dead, unseeing eyes staring out at the world in a look of perpetual surprise. Sparing a brief moment of sorrow for yet another life lost, Steve twisted himself sideways, pressing Grace tightly against him to spare the little girl the unpleasant sight.

They hadn't made it two steps past the dead body, however, when Castillo put his hand on Grace's shoulder, making a move to pull her toward him.

"Let her go, Commander," he ordered, his words punctuated by the barrel of a gun that was pushed painfully into Steve's back, courtesy of Castillo's partner.

"No," he countered without hesitation, tightening his hold on the little girl's arm. "She stays with me."

Again Castillo ignored him, turning to Grace instead. "Your uncle Steve doesn't seem to know how to listen very well," he remarked, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "Do you know what happens to people who don't listen to Hugo Castillo?" He raised his gun hand higher, pointing it at the former SEAL, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"No! Don't. Don't, please!" Grace cried out and pushed hard against her protector's injured leg, easily extricating herself from his instantly weakened grip.

Hot, prickling tears burned at her eyes and throat at her uncle's hoarse, pain-filled plea for her to get back. But she stood her ground, determined to do everything she could to keep her uncle Steve from getting shot. _She had promised Danno, after all._

"Don't worry, Commander," Castillo chimed in, wrapping his free hand around Grace's upper arm. "I merely need some extra insurance of your good behavior. Little Grace will be just fine, as long as you don't try anything stupid."

Without giving Steve a chance to respond, he turned around and began walking down the hallway in the direction of the stairwell, pulling Grace along.

"Walk," a rough command came from behind him, punctuated by another painful jab of the weapon into his ribs, and Steve complied, limping mechanically after them, his mind going a mile a minute, desperately searching for a way out of their predicament.

Prosaically enough, their salvation came in the form of a bell, an elevator chime to be precise. The sound startled the small group, and Steve felt the gun barrel slip from his back for an instant. That instant was all the SEAL needed.

Slamming his elbow into his escort's stomach with all the force he could muster, he grabbed the doubled-over, gasping thug and, not giving him a chance to recover his senses, threw him bodily into the unsuspecting pair before him.

Teo went down hard, dragging the smaller, skinnier Castillo down with him.

Grace fell too, but found herself suddenly free, as her captor released his hold on her in a vain attempt to break his own fall.

She didn't even have time to truly appreciate her newfound freedom, however, for the very next moment she found herself being pulled rather roughly back onto her feet and shoved unceremoniously in the direction of the open elevator doors.

"Get in," Steve whispered urgently above her ear, and she yelped in surprised, as he propelled her forward, causing her to bump into a pair of green-clad feet inside. Grace whirled back, trying to catch her uncle's eyes, but he was looking above her at the person in the elevator.

"Take her down to the lobby," he bit out, slightly breathless from his brief clash, his body having grown unaccustomed to such exertion. "Call HPD. Tell them to get here on the double."

A young nurse, the currently rather befuddled owner of said green-clad feet, stared back at him like a deer in the headlights.

"Move!" Steve barked at her, making her jump in fear. _Damn, he didn't have time for that. He needed to get Gracie out of here. Now! There wasn't going to be another chance._

He was about to reach in and press the button himself, when a sharp call of his name, followed by the sound of a gun being cocked made him turn around.

"Step away from the elevator, McGarrett," Castillo shouted, his gun aimed unerringly at Steve's chest, while Teo slowly rose to his feet beside him, still clutching his bruised midsection. "I would like those two lovely ladies to join us." The gun jerked slightly in emphasis. "Now."

Steve didn't budge. He stood up straighter instead, arms splayed out to the sides, making himself as big a target as he possibly could.

"Lobby! Now!" he threw tensely over his shoulder, his eyes – dark and blazing with resolve – never leaving Castillo's face.

He felt a movement behind him and breathed a small sigh of relief, waiting for the familiar swoosh of the doors. It never came.

Instead, there was a bang – a deafening, thunder-like clap splitting the air, and his left thigh exploded in a whirlwind of pain.

His left hand shot out, grabbing for the wall in a desperate attempt to keep his balance. A sharp pain sliced through his palm in response, which he ignored, concentrating instead of getting his suddenly strained breath under control.

"I don't believe you heard me, Commander," Castillo's voice broke faintly through the loud roaring in his ears. "Move away from the elevator and let your _**niece**_ and the nurse come out. I won't be so gentle next time."

There was a shift behind him, a brush of a small hand against his wounded leg, and he forced himself to straighten out, gritting out hoarsely, "Get back, Gracie, please."

"No, Uncle Steve, they'll kill you," Grace protested, her voice trembling with tears.

In response, he reached down, placing a trembling hand on her shoulder before pushing her gently further back into the elevator car, where the nurse stood nervously, her fingers hovering over the button. Catching the nurse's terrified gaze for one last time, he nodded sharply. "Do it."

The welcome sound of the elevator doors swooshing closed was drowned out by a howl of rage, and Steve bit his lip, steeling himself for what was to come. He couldn't move. Couldn't risk it. Not until the doors were closed all the way. Not when he was the only thing standing between Grace and the barrel of Castillo's gun.

So when the gun that was pointed at him barked sharply once and then again in rapid succession, Steve forced himself not to flinch, letting the deadly load reach its intended mark. There simply was no other option.

Metal tore into flesh, ripping and shredding it like a vicious predator, flinging him backward like a spineless ragdoll, weak and breathless.

The elevator doors snapped closed just then, cutting off Grace's anguished scream, breaking his fall. And as he slid limply down onto the floor, his world graying around the edges, he smiled weakly despite the searing pain.

_Grace was safe..._

* * *

TBC

Don't hate me. Please? :)


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N **Thank you for the overwhelming response to the last chapter. I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to respond to all of you (got sidetracked with work again). I do appreciate everyone's reviews, though (very much so!). And thank you to all the guest reviewers!

I hope this chapter makes up for the cliffie in the last one (though I'm not sure how you'll respond to the ending here). I wrote this late at night after little sleep the night(s) before, so I apologize in advance if something doesn't make sense or if you see any glaring mistakes. Blame it on lack of sleep.

Thanks again! Hope you enjoy the chapter. Reviews are always (and I do mean ALWAYS) appreciated :)

* * *

**Chapter 13**

The Camaro screeched to a tire-smoking halt in front of the hospital, and Danny was out of the car a split second later, slamming the door behind him with none of the gentleness or care he had previously shown to his favorite vehicle.

"Detective Williams. Five-0," he barked out to the first police uniform he saw, as he burst through the double doors into the busy hospital lobby. "There's a–"

"Detective Williams, yes. Sergeant Lukela called us in," the uniform responded, and Danny blinked, pausing in his wild, desperate inspection of the lobby long enough to look up at the tall, lanky Hawaiian before him. "My name is Officer Alana," the man supplied quickly, nodding at his partner. "This here is Officer Kalili. Sergeant Lukela said you might require assistance?"

Danny closed his eyes briefly, sending out a silent thank you to Duke. He'll need to remember to buy the man a beer.

"Yes, yes, thank you," he responded tensely, blue eyes going back to scanning the lobby in a crazy hope of spotting Castillo right then and there. "You have more people here?"

Alana nodded. "Yes, sir. We posted two more officers at the other entrance." The man spread his arms out in an apologetic half-shrug, "We got here only a few minutes before you did, Detective. If your suspect has already–"

"He hasn't," Danny cut him off sharply, because, _dammit_, the alternative was simply not acceptable. "He's still here. He's got to be."

Reaching for his service weapon, he was about to direct one of the officers to follow him up to the fourth floor, to Steve's room. He never got a chance.

The elevator doors that he had set his sights on suddenly swooshed open, two people tumbling out, their movements erratic, full of panic. And then a high-pitched, desperate shout of "Danno!" pierced the stuffy hallway air, and the enormous rock that has been crushing down on Danny's heart fell away, making him almost dizzy with unexpected relief.

He had her in his arms a blink of an eye later, crushing her trembling form against his chest, as he chanted breathlessly into the dark, tousled hair, "Gracie, Gracie, Gracie."

_She was alright. His baby girl was alright. She was here, hugging him back, mumbling something tearfully into his ear._

"What did you say, Sweetheart?"

"U-uncle Steve," Grace let out with another heart-wrenching sob, "t-they k-ki... killed uncle S-steve..."

And just like that the nauseatingly tight, breath-robbing vise was back around his heart. "Wh-what?"

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

A sudden violent shudder ran through the doors he was leaning against, echoing in an unpleasant jolt throughout his abused body, bringing him sharply back to undesired awareness. Steve raised his head, blinking in confusion at the slightly blurry figure of Castillo that loomed so unexpectedly close to where he was sitting.

_He **was **sitting, right? Otherwise, how could Castillo be looming over him? And when did he get so close anyway?_

He blinked sluggishly again, unsettled by the fact that he must have blacked out at some point, because he seemed to be missing a few moments here and there. _He was back to awareness now, though, and he needed to act. Fast. Before pain and exhaustion pulled him under again._

He remembered being shot. _Twice. No, three times._ The entire left side of his body from his leg to his shoulder was on fire, and someone was jabbing a red-hot poker through his side every time he tried to take a breath, which was becoming an increasingly harder task in and of itself.

He supposed he should be counting his blessings, though. For had Castillo's aim been a few inches to the right, he would have been pain-free... permanently.

Unfortunately, with his current injuries he wouldn't be much of a fighter either. _But he still had a job to do. He couldn't let Castillo simply walk out of this hospital. If he did, Danny and Grace would still be in danger. No, he needed to stop that man. No matter what it took. Stall him long enough for HPD to get here_ (because, yes, he had faith in Grace, faith that, despite everything that happened, she would remember his request).

_He could do this. He just needed to pull himself together. And he needed a plan._

Before his mind had a chance to come up with something more or less intelligible, however, Castillo slammed his open-palmed hand against the elevator doors twice more, sending another wave of pain through his body that for a brief moment actually made him see stars.

"Y...you k-know," he gasped out, as soon as he had his breath relatively under control, "if you... r... really want ... the d-doors t... to op-pen, you ... c-could try pressing a b... button..."

Castillo glared down at him, his thin face twisted with a rage so powerful that it took a visible effort on his part to bring it under some semblance of control.

"You," he hissed out, whipping out his weapon and pointing it at the downed SEAL. "I underestimated you, Commander. I did not think you could be this foolish."

Steve squinted a little, fighting to keep the face before him from fading in and out like a black and white film reel in an old projection booth, and then, inexplicably, the dry, blood-spattered lips pulled into a tired, amused smile.

"What's so funny, McGarrett?" the man snapped, the dark eyes glinting dangerously.

"I'm just... thinking...," Steve responded, his voice gaining strength as he spoke, "I made you lose two hostages ... not to mention your temper. Screwed up another one of your ... brilliant plans. I wouldn't exactly call that foolish."

For a brief moment, an expression so murderous, so feral flickered across Castillo's face that Steve became convinced that he was going to be shot right then and there. The man shook with hatred, bringing his weapon to rest harshly against Steve's forehead, finger tightening on the trigger.

Steve didn't flinch. Staring calmly at his would-be executioner, he asked simply, "So... what is your plan now? The police are probably on their way ...already." He let his gaze flicker briefly over Castillo's shoulder to where he could see a couple of partially opened hospital room doors. "My guess is everyone on this f...floor has already called 911."

Castillo raised his head at that, turning back to his stocky companion. "Teo, check the rooms. Make sure the patients **understand** that they need to keep their mouths shut if they want to stay out of the morgue for a little while longer."

"Si, senor."

"That won't help you," Steve breathed out with cruel conviction, "HPD already ...knows you're here. They are probably sur...rounding the building as we speak."

Teo stopped in mid-movement, turning back to his boss, eyes wide and disconcerted. "He's right, senor. We gotta get out of here. Now."

"Teo," Castillo growled warningly.

"Just leave him be. He'll die soon enough on his own, and you'll have your _revancha_."

A sharp retort of a gun echoed loudly in the near empty hallway, and Steve couldn't quite hold back a gasp of surprise as he watched Teo jerk suddenly, tumbling backward into the nearby wall. The two thick, hairy arms grabbed futilely at the small blood-spurting hole in the middle of his neck, slipping helplessly on the rapidly squirting liquid. A few breathless heartbeats later, the panicked movements stilled, and Teo's wide-eyed, open-mouthed corpse slid gracelessly all the way down onto the ground, coming to an awkward, sprawling rest in the middle of a slowly expanding pool of viscous, crimson liquid.

"I don't like having my decisions second-guessed," Castillo offered by way of explanation, his voice strangely hollow, detached, as he carefully swung his weapon to once again aim it at his heavily breathing captive.

Cocking his head slightly, his gaze narrow, evaluative, he added, "My associate might have been right about one thing, though, I do need to get out of here. And you, Commander, are going to help me do that."

Steve dragged his gaze away from the dead body, frowning at Castillo with a half-whispered, breathless "Oh?"

The cartel boss smirked unkindly, bending down toward him. The next moment he was grabbing Steve by the front of his blood-soaked scrub top and pulling him roughly up and off the floor.

Pain ratcheted up to a level he didn't think was possible, and Steve couldn't hold back a small, pitiful whimper that slipped past his cracked, bitten-through lips.

"For shame, Commander," Castillo sniggered behind his ear, the mobster's breath scalding against his clammy skin. "A Navy SEAL can't even hold himself upright? You don't expect to _**carry**_ you down the stairs, do you?"

"Sh-shoulda ... th...thought of that bef-fore ...wasting Mr. Muscles there...," Steve gasped out, trying and failing to straighten out his trembling legs.

"You might have a point there, Commander," Castillo sounded strained from the effort of trying to hold him upright. "Unfortunately, I have a very low tolerance when it comes to people, who disrespect my authority. I have a reputation to uphold, being a _patron_ and all. You understand." He tightened his hold on Steve's shirt, twisting him around and pushing him toward the stairwell. "Now move!"

Steve stumbled forward, the red-hot poker in his left thigh twisting viciously in response, and the former SEAL swallowed harshly against a gut-churning wave of nausea that rolled through him, robbing him of breath, closing around his throat in a suffocating vise.

His vision dimmed momentarily, sights and sounds cutting out like during a poor satellite reception, and Steve was not the least bit surprised to feel his knees connect jarringly with the cool smoothness of the linoleum floor, as he suddenly and irrevocably lost his balance, and the only thing that stopped him from face-planting into the boot-scuffed, blood-spattered floor was Castillo's iron grip on the scruff of his shirt.

He wasn't surprised, because Castillo, for all his valiant attempts to hold him up, was not built to support a six-foot-tall one-eighty-something pound SEAL. Nor was he surprised to hear a string of jumbled Spanish curses above him and feel his shirt being pulled roughly, though quite uselessly, upward.

What did surprise him was the door to the stairwell slamming open and a tense, painfully familiar voice growling menacingly, "Put your gun down and let him go. Now."

He raised his head weakly, blinking away the blood-filled haze that obscured his vision. _Danny?_

_Why was he here? _There was a blue-colored blob behind him,_ a uniform. Danny wasn't alone then. Good. But what about Grace? Where was Grace? Was she safe?_

Panic set in suddenly, and he pushed his right palm into the floor, trying to get his uncooperative body to move. The hand fisted around the back of his scrub shirt jerked him sharply backwards, putting an abrupt and breath-robbing stop to any further attempt at movement.

"Detective Williams," Castillo smug greeting sounded above his ear, his gun pressing painfully into the side of his skull, making him wince. "So good to see you again. And you even brought a friend." He chuckled, a cold, unpleasant sound. " I had the distinct pleasure of getting to know your daughter a little closer over the past hour. A beautiful girl, so sweet, so deliciously spunky." The mobster pulled back, making purring sounds of perverse satisfaction.

"Don't you dare talk about my daughter like that," Danny growled, his face twisting into a scowl of rage, as he took a menacing step closer.

"Oh, but Detective," Castillo mock-pouted, his own grip on Steve's shirt tightening impossibly, the fabric digging viciously into the wounds.

The former SEAL gasped shakily, trying to pull at least some air into his starved lungs, as pain robbed him of all ability to breathe. Darkness moved in, threatening to cut him off the outside world, and he struggled against it, needing to stay awake, needing to help Danny.

"Don't you want to know what happened to your little princess? How much fun we had?" Castillo continued, his voice coming through muffled, as though someone had stuck a thick wad of cotton into each of his ears.

_The words. They were wrong. That bastard never hurt Grace. He protected her, didn't he? Grace was fine, wasn't she?_

Steve opened his mouth to speak, to deny Castillo's lies, but all that came out was a strangled sound, as his throat seized, trying to dislodge a wad of thick, viscous liquid that suddenly bubbled forth from his lungs. He coughed, spraying the floor before him with a fine red mist, and slammed his eyes shut, as a wave of white-hot, blinding agony tore through his body, ripping his consciousness to thin, pitiful shreds. He had no choice but to hang on to those, breathing in harsh, painful gasps, as he waited for the world around him to come back into some semblance of focus.

There was a bark of satisfied laughter above him, and then Steve felt the Castillo lean closer, and the cold barrel of the gun scraped callously down his bruised, bloodied cheek, making him flinch.

"Your friend, the Commander here, tried to intervene, of course. But he just wasn't strong enough, you see. And little Gracie..."

Castillo trailed off, clicking his tongue suggestively, and Steve forced his head up, his pain-shadowed gaze seeking Danny's. The pain and fear he saw reflected back at him was almost his undoing. _He needed to do something. To stop this. Danny didn't deserve this kind of pain. Gracie wasn't..._

He did the only thing he could. Leaning sharply backwards, he slammed his head into the face he knew was there – mocking, hovering. There was a crack and a howl of pain, and then the crushing hold on him loosened predictably. Steve let gravity do the work, dropping heavily onto the blood-stained floor, even as three gunshots ruptured the air above him.

Silence descended, wrapping itself around him in a thick, comforting blanket, and Steve leaned into it, yearning for its release, for the quiet and the oblivion that was sure to follow. There were suddenly hands on him, pulling at him, turning him onto his back. He buckled, gasping in pain; the gasp turning into a hoarse scream, as those same hands pressed down hard onto his wounds.

"Sorry, babe, sorry. I'm so sorry." Danny's voice filtered through the red-tainted haze, and he peeled his eyes open, trying to focus on the blurry face above him.

_There was something he needed to tell him. Something about... _

"Grace..." The word came out strangled, broken, barely above a whisper. He needed to do better than that. _He needed to explain._

"Grace is fine, Steve," Danny assured him, his voice clipped, angry. _Why was he angry? Was it at him?_ _Did he really think he let Castillo do this to Grace?_

He gulped, desperately running out of air; wet, suffocating cough once again ripping past his lips, staining them and Danny's blue shirt a sickly, bright red.

"Hey, easy, easy. Help's coming. You just hang in there, you hear?"

_Danny sounded worried now, angry and worried. And farther away. He was slipping, dammit. He needed to hurry it up. He may not get another chance._

"Grace...," he repeated, breathless, his vision dimming almost to naught. "Cas-tillo ...never..."

Danny's hand was suddenly on his cheek, warm and grounding, and his voice was soft, softer than Steve had ever heard it. "I know, babe, I know."

And he felt warm, too; warmth spreading inside his chest, blocking out the pain, the worry. His vision faded further, Danny's face becoming nothing more than a white-washed blur.

"Good..."

And then it, too, was gone.

* * *

TBC

So, uhm, next chapter will be mostly Danny's POV and should fill in any blanks. I'm gonna go hide now :)


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N **I've been terrible with responses for the last chapter. I read all of them, loved all of them, and I really thought I would have time to go in and respond and... as usual, RL had other ideas. I am so sorry about that. I really hope to do better next time. Thank you all, again!

Here's the next installment. As promised, this is all Danny's POV. It picks a few minutes before the last chapter ended and shows that scene and a few minutes after through Danny's eyes. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

He bounded up the stairs, heart pounding in his chest in sync with the maddeningly swirling mantra of _"please, be alive; please, be alive; please, be alive"_ that hammered out a nauseating rhythm inside his head. Because Steve _had to be_ alive. Because he had just told his little girl that her uncle Steve was an indestructible super SEAL, and he never lied to his daughter before and he'd be damned if he was gonna start now.

Still, he wasn't prepared for the rapid rollercoaster of conflicting emotions that slammed into him when he flung the door open on the fourth floor. First – a dizzying, heart-soaring jubilation upon seeing a clearly alive and breathing McGarrett, and then – fear – gut-churning and incapacitating – that chilled him to the very core as he took in the shape his partner was in.

Steve was... _"They shot him, Daddy. They wanted him to move away from the elevator and let us come out, but he wouldn't... I-I wanted to come out... I didn't want him to get hurt again, but he... he wouldn't let me. He just said to close the door... And they shot him... again and again and..."_ Grace's jumbled, sob-broken explanations drifted once again to the forefront of his frazzled mind, as he stared unblinking at the rapidly growing rust-colored stains that spread across the bullet-ripped, mangled fabric, overwhelming the delicate blue.

Danny swallowed convulsively against an impossibly dry throat, trying to tamp down on the rising panic, even as his fingers tightened subconsciously around the weapon. Dimly he heard officer Alana move out from behind him, training his own gun on the scowling Spaniard, and he allowed himself a small breath of relief at the welcome support.

"Put your gun down and let him go. Now," he ordered harshly, his gaze flicking momentarily to Castillo, only to be drawn inescapably back to the hunched-over, kneeling form of his friend, who was swaying feebly in Castillo's grip.

Steve looked up at Danny's words, the dull, pain-glazed eyes locking sluggishly with his, and Danny winced, noting the coat of dried blood that clung to his partner's unnaturally pale skin, its source lost somewhere in the sweat-damp, matted hair above his right temple. A spark of recognition in the dark blue eyes gave way to panicked confusion, as if seeing him, Danny, here was somehow worrisome to the former SEAL, and Steve pushed his hand down, attempting to stand, only to be pulled roughly back by his captor.

Danny inched forward, his lips thinning angrily at the grimace of pain that twisted his friend's features, the desire to grind Castillo into dust with his bare hands becoming almost palpable. Fingers tensing on the trigger, he raised his gun higher to point at the gleefully smirking face above McGarrett, his hatred for the mobster - a fraction of a second away from helping him pull the small metal lever.

The mention of his daughter's name, though, brought him up short, blood congealing into iced-over rivers inside his veins.

He listened with an ever-growing horror, as Castillo painted for him the picture of every parent's nightmare, his own mind dutifully supplying the nauseatingly frightening details. Grace's tear-stained, terrified face came before him in his mind's eye, and for one gut-churning, harrowing moment he actually believed it.

And then he didn't. _Because Gracie had been with Steve. And there was no way that Steve would have let anything like this happen. Not any more than he, Danny, would. Not if there was still breath left in his body. He had to believe it. He just had to._

A wet, rattling cough pulled his attention back down, and his eyes widened at the sight of newly appeared bright-red mist that stained the floor at his partner's knees. _Blood_. The realization was a blunt, breath-stealing blow. He tore his gaze away from the scattered droplets of blood on the floor, terrifying in their implication, Danny risked a glance at his friend and whatever lingering doubts he may have had about Castillo's claims disintegrated to naught under a tidal wave of white-hot fury that slammed into him.

But it wasn't aimed at Steve, who raised his blood-matted, waxen face to him, still trying to force out the words, even as his whole body trembled visibly with the effort to control the pain and remain conscious. No.

He was angry with Castillo for once again sinking his bloodthirsty claws into his partner and for nearly depriving him of the most precious thing in his life - his Gracie. (He didn't even dare to think about what would have happened to his little girl if it were not for his self-sacrificing, crazy SEAL of a partner).

And he was furious, absolutely furious with himself. For abandoning his friend to the clutches of this monster. Again. And for allowing himself this, though momentary, slip of faith in Steve, who, he knew, would've done everything and more to keep his daughter safe; for letting Castillo's lies slither into his soul like a poisonous viper, sullying his connection with his brother in everything but blood with stains of dark, foul doubt.

Lost in a quicksand of self-hatred, Danny didn't notice the sudden shadow that passed over Steve's features, the slight widening of the pain-veiled eyes, the stony, determined tightening of the jaws. And then Steve struck, and Danny gaped stupidly for all of three seconds, as blood squirted forth from between Castillo's hastily raised fingers – the man's nose broken by the well-angled slam of the back of Steve's head. And Steve was already falling – slowly, heavily, inescapably, like a felled tree, his abused, unprotected body crashing brutally into the unforgiving floor.

Danny's trigger finger twitched before his conscious mind had a chance to catch up. Once. And then again; the sharp retort of a gun echoing loudly above his ear, as officer Alana's weapon discharged as well. It was all rather anticlimactic, really. Castillo toppled backward in mute submission, half his face blown off by three closely placed gunshot wounds. And Danny, for all the rage he felt toward Castillo, for all the hours he spent mulling over the ways, in which he was going to take revenge on the bastard, Danny spared him no second glance, as he rushed wobbly-kneed to his partner's side.

Flipping him gently onto his back, he nearly gagged at the amount of blood that had soaked into the light blue fabric. _"Oh god, Steve..."_ He pressed down, desperately trying to ignore the way his friend's blood swiftly coated his trembling hands, snaking up to the edges of his shirt sleeves.

A hoarse, agony-laden scream tore at his heart, and Danny nearly pulled his hands back to avoid hurting his friend even more. But he needed to keep the pressure on.

"Sorry, babe, sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispered, his apology falling on deaf ears, as Steve shifted restlessly under the weight of his arms, his ashen face – a grotesquely frozen mask of pain.

"I need help over here!" Danny hollered, twisting his head to the right, to where Alana was standing, speaking swiftly, urgently into his radio.

"Already on their way, Detective," the officer nodded, clipping the device back to his uniform.

_"Oh, thank god!"_

"You hear that, Steve?" He turned back to his downed friend, his voice full of fake cheerfulness. "Help is on the way. You just need to hang on, you hear?"

Steve didn't. In fact, glancing down at the barely opened, unfocussed eyes, Danny wasn't even sure Steve could really see him. Until Steve spoke. Or, rather, tried to.

The bloodless lips parted slightly, releasing a whisper of a name, a sound no louder than the faint rustling of leaves in a gentle breeze.

"Grace..."

Danny's breath caught in his throat, Castillo's words floating unbidden back into his mind. He pushed them back, forcefully, angrily. He wasn't about to go down the same road again.

"Grace is fine, Steve," he forced out past an uncomfortably seizing throat. _Because she just had to be. Nothing else was acceptable. _

Steve buckled under his hands again, gasping futilely for air before another bout of cough ripped through him, and Danny flinched, horrified, as a spray of warm blood spattered his shirt.

_"No, no, no! This wasn't happening!" _Pressing down harder onto the sodden fabric, his eyes riveted to the thin film of red that coated his friend's lips, he spoke hurriedly, his voice growing tight with worry.

"Hey, easy, easy. Help's coming. You just hang in there, you hear?"

Two bleary eyes peeled open once more with great effort, blinking sluggishly, as they settled on Danny's face.

"Grace...," the red-tinged lips moved again, stubbornly trying to get his message understood. "Cas-tillo ...never..."

And Danny finally did understand, and the realization rudely and literally took his breath away. _Steve must have thought he doubted him, too. That's why he was so desperate to tell him, to reassure him. Oh, dear god... _The tremulous, hope-filled desperation in his partner's eyes only served to confirm his suspicion, and Danny suddenly felt like puking.

Leaning closer to Steve's ashen face, he pressed a shaking hand against the clammy, blood-crusted skin. He wanted to apologize, he wanted to plead with his friend to forgive him, he wanted to tell him that he trusted him implicitly with both his own life and his daughter's. But his throat seized again inexplicably, and all that came out was a half-choked, tear-stained "I know."

A weak ghost of a smile was his response, a gentle breath of relief – "Good..." And Steve's eyes slid closed, his body growing irrevocably, terrifyingly still.

The world disappeared suddenly – the sights, the sounds – everything faded into the background. There was only Steve, lifeless and strangely water-blurred, and his hands – fisted tightly around the blood-drenched fabric, digging brutally into the wounds.

"Wake up, you, son of a bitch! Wake up!"

There were soon other hands in the picture. Hands on Steve – swift and efficient, and hands on him – gentle, restraining.

"Detective. It's alright, Detective. You can let go now. We got him."

He blinked stupidly at a vaguely familiar face above him, feeling something wet trickle down his cheeks. The face smiled compassionately, repeating the words, and he pulled back, nodding numbly.

"Don't worry. He's in good hands."

The hand was still there on his shoulder, keeping him in place, keeping him steady, as he watched Steve being hastily strapped onto a stretcher and rolled into the elevator.

"They are taking him to the OR," the same kind voice supplied unnecessarily. "Why don't I take you to the surgical waiting area? You will be more comfortable there."

Danny blinked again, raising his hand to wipe away at the irritating moisture. "I... uh... I gotta get my daughter first," he managed hoarsely, and the sympathetic face was suddenly leaning before him, nodding patiently.

"Of course, Detective. Whatever you need."

* * *

TBC

I'm thinking there's about one more chapter left. Please let me know your thoughts.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N **I know I said there was only one more chapter left, but as I began writing it, I realized that it was becoming too unwieldy for a single chapter. So I decided to break it up. I hope you don't mind.

Thank you to all the wonderful reviewers, both guest and those who signed in! Reviews quite literally make my day (yes, I'm that easy to please :-).

* * *

**Chapter 15**

"You sure she's alright?" He must have asked this question a few dozen times by now, but the nurse still nodded calmly, giving him a patient smile.

"She's got some bruising on her upper arm here," the nurse pointed out, gently holding up the bruised appendage, "but, other than that, she's fine."

"Thank you," Danny breathed out, wrapping his Monkey in a tight but careful hug. Glancing back at the nurse, he asked, his voice only a fraction steadier than he felt, "Do you know where I could get an update on Commander McGarrett's condition? He was taken to surgery about an hour ago."

The nurse nodded curtly. "Why don't you take a seat out in the waiting room, and I'll see what I can find out."

Danny nodded numbly, grabbing his daughter's hand, and followed the nurse out of their small curtain-covered cubicle and into the adjacent waiting room.

They ended up waiting a good twenty minutes only to be told that the doctor was still in surgery and he'll be out to speak to them as soon as he is finished.

_More waiting_. Danny didn't do waiting well on a good day, but now... The Jersey native wasn't even aware of how hard he was gripping the plastic arm of his chair until Grace's hand landed softly on top of his, making him jump.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Sweetheart?"

"I think I just saw Uncle Chin in the hallway."

Danny looked up at that, flicking his gaze to the hallway just in time to see both Chin and Kono move away from the reception desk and head in their direction.

He stood to greet them, but barely made it two steps away from his chair, when he found himself enveloped in a bone-crushing hug by his two teammates. The strength of its affection caught him off guard, and he found himself wholly unprepared for the onslaught of emotions that surged through him.

He pulled away, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood in a feeble attempt to get back some modicum of control.

"H-how are you here?" he mumbled, wincing at how ridiculous he sounded.

"You should see the downstairs, Brah," Kono shrugged matter-of-factly, absently pulling back a strand of hair to reveal a thick white bandage that stood out starkly against her tan skin. "The entire lobby area looks like a giant beehive. Police are everywhere, people are frantic - there are rumors flying about that somebody was shooting up the hospital."

"We knew something was up," echoed Chin. "We tried calling you, but your phone kept going straight to voicemail. So we called Duke. When he told us that Castillo was here and that you were going after him, I nearly had to tie her down to get her to stay in the emergency room long enough to let the nurse finish putting on her stitches."

Kono snorted indignantly, as if saying _"Like you really expected me to react any other way"_, and squatted in front of Grace's chair, her hand hovering just above the little girl's knee. "How are you doing, keiki?"

"Fine," the girl responded quietly, growing exceedingly interested in the pink and white flowers that lined the bottom of her hopelessly rumpled, blood-spattered dress.

Kono frowned at that, throwing Danny a look of concern, but the latter pursed his lips tightly, his own face dark with anguish. Motioning to both of them to step away, he waited until they joined him at the other end of the room, out of Grace's earshot.

"What happened here, Brah?" Chin inquired softly, his usual Zen-like composure faltering in the face of the blond man's somber expression.

Danny remained silent for a few long, tension-filled minutes, his gaze fixed on the scrawny figure of his daughter, who sat stiff and forlorn in her plastic chair.

"She wouldn't tell me much," he said finally, his voice low and almost painfully dry in his throat. "All I... all I know is that Steve tried to get her away from Castillo and he pushed her inside an elevator and then used himself as a human shield until the doors..." Danny broke off, he himself having a hard time coming to terms with the haunting image that his mind painted for him – he couldn't even begin to imagine how his little girl must have felt, having actually seen it happen.

"She watched him get shot," he added hoarsely, feeling a shiver run through his body, as he thought back to the sight of his partner – bloodied and barely conscious, caught in Castillo's vicious grip like a helpless marionette. He felt a hand clasp his, and he looked up, meeting Kono's dark, worry-filled gaze.

"She was hysterical when I found her. She thought he was dead," he murmured, swallowing harshly in a vain attempt to keep his voice from cracking. "You understand? My little girl was convinced that she had just seen her uncle Steve get killed."

The cousins shared a look – mute horror mixed with unease. "Is Steve-?"

"I don't know," Danny shrugged miserably. "He's been in surgery for the past hour or so. I haven't heard anything." Throwing another worried glance at his daughter, he added brokenly, "He looked bad, guys. Really bad."

A hand on his arm suddenly morphed into a full-blown embrace, and he found himself clinging desperately to the tall, slender body of his young colleague, feeling hot tears prickle at the edges of his eyes.

"It's gonna be okay, Danny," he heard her whisper, and he pulled away, angrily wiping at his eyes.

"You don't **know** that. **I** don't know that." He took a deep, steadying breath, running a trembling hand through his ruffled hair. "I swore to myself that I would get Castillo for what he did to Steve on that ship. Instead I practically served Steve to that bastard on a goddamned silver platter."

"It's not your fault, Danny," Chin argued, his hand hovering above the smaller man's shoulder in restrained concern. "You couldn't have predicted what Castillo was up to. None of us could. And Steve would tell you the same thing."

"He'd be wrong," the Jersey native bit back sharply, causing the other man to step back with a frown. "**I** should have known. I should have seen it, dammit!" He whirled away from the cousins, his body trembling with nervous energy. "I was so damn focused on getting the bastard myself, I didn't even bother to pay attention to what was staring me right in the face."

Behind him the remaining Five-0 teammates glanced at each other briefly in hesitation, the rookie worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

"Danny," she called quietly, taking a halting step forward, pulling him gently by his arm, until he was back to facing her, albeit reluctantly. "You can't do this to yourself, brah. Chin's right: none of us could have known that Castillo would go after Steve like that. Second-guessing yourself now, feeling guilty – that won't get you anywhere, and it certainly isn't gonna help Steve."

"I know," Danny whispered – a tremor-broken admission, "I know. It's just- I felt so helpless when we found out that he was kidnapped. We had no idea where he was, what happened to him, whether he was dead or alive. I didn't think it could get worse. But this..." He trailed off, shaking his head in defeat.

Wordlessly, Kono put her arm around his shoulder and guided him back to the chairs, pushing him down gently and sliding into a seat next to him. A moment later Chin joined them as well.

"We'll be right here, brah," Kono promised quietly, as Danny reached subconsciously for his daughter's hand, clasping it desperately like a drowning man a straw. "No matter what."

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

It was another two hours before a tired, worn-looking surgeon walked into their waiting room, throwing an evaluative look at the disheveled, worry-strained bunch.

"Detective Williams?"

Danny rose shakily, more than a little relieved that his friends stood up with him, grateful for their solid presence at his sides.

"How's Steve?"

It didn't matter that his voice sounded strangled and pitifully hopeful. The only thing that mattered was a weary but reassuring smile on the surgeon's face, a smile that made him go weak in his knees.

"He's in the recovery room at the moment. They will monitor him for a little while longer, before moving him to the ICU," the man responded, his smile growing a bit wider at the collective sigh of relief that followed his words. Motioning to the chairs, he suggested softly, "Why don't you all take a seat, and I'll go over the Commander's status with you."

He waited patiently, but as his offer seemed to be blatantly ignored, he decided to proceed.

"As you may be aware, Commander McGarrett suffered three gunshot wounds: two to his chest and shoulder and one to his upper thigh. There was some concern with that last injury, as the bullet had actually cracked the femur bone, and the fracture appears to have been further aggravated by movement, bringing part of the bone dangerously close to nicking his femoral artery."

The doctor shook his head in mute disbelief, adding quietly, as though in response to his own thoughts, "though, frankly, I can't imagine how he was able to move on that leg at all – every step would have been excruciating."

He looked back at the anxious trio before him and winced at his own tactlessness, hurrying to inject some reassurance to deflect from his grim statement.

"We've put in a couple of metal pins to stabilize the bone until it heals, and the Commander will probably be looking at several physical therapy sessions down the road. He will also likely need therapy for his shoulder. There's some tendon damage from the bullet. He should, however, be able to regain full function of both."

"What about-," Danny began, swallowing convulsively, as his voice once again threatened to betray him. "He was coughing up blood earlier," he blurted out, purposely ignoring the horrified looks that his two teammates were giving him at that revelation.

The surgeon nodded curtly. "One of the bullets pierced the Commander's left lung, which led to the symptoms you are describing. His lung cavity was filling up with blood rather quickly as a result, and he was losing oxygen, probably struggling to breathe."

"He was," Danny confirmed unnecessarily, his mind flashing back to the image of his partner, gasping futilely for breath, as he fought to remain conscious.

The doctor nodded again. "Understandable under the circumstances. We have put in a chest tube to drain the blood from the affected lung, so do not be alarmed when you see that."

"He's going to be okay then?" Kono asked quietly, her simple question filled with tremulous, daring hope.

The doctor smiled tiredly in response. "The Commander is a very lucky man," he offered in reply, chuckling softly at their disbelieving stares. "I know it may not look that way now, but there are a number of ways that this could have gone much, much worse. If his femoral artery had been cut, if he hadn't been right in the hospital when this happened...," the man trailed off, shrugging slightly, "well, you get the idea. He's lost a lot of blood, and his injuries **are** serious, no doubt about it, but, yes, I do expect him to recover."

"Barring any further run-ins with gun-wielding maniacs," Danny grumbled under his breath, earning himself a bemusedly raised eyebrow from the scrubs-clad man.

"There... **is** one other matter," the doctor added, his voice once again taking on a cautious, gravely quality. He glanced briefly at the clipboard that was clasped tightly in his right hand and continued, "Commander McGarrett had two skin grafts put on by Doctor Choy. The graft on his left palm was partially ripped, but the damage was minor and I expect that it should heal on its own." He paused, frowning. "His right leg, though, is another matter. The damage to the graft there was too extensive, and he will need another surgery to correct it. We will have to wait until the Commander is stable enough, before attempting another transplant. I'm hoping that we'll be able to save the area, though."

"Thank you, doctor," Danny whispered, nodding his thanks, and the man left, promising to send someone to get them as soon as Steve was settled in the ICU.

A wave of relief, dizzying and leg-wobbling, swept through the room, Steve's teammates coming together in another embrace – one of soul-soaring hope instead of heart-stopping desperation.

Behind them, still huddled miserably in her comfortless waiting room chair, the nine-year-old girl stared after the doctor's retreating form, her brown eyes glittering with anguished tears. It was only when he pulled away and took one look at his daughter's unnaturally pale, tear-streaked face that Danny Williams realized that something wasn't right.

Moving swiftly to her side, Danny pulled her close, frowning at the way her little body trembled in his arms. "It's alright, Sweetheart," he murmured, his voice gentle, reassuring. "You heard what the doctor said, your uncle Steve is going to be just fine. We should be able to visit with him in just a few minutes, and you'll see for yourself."

He felt her sniff loudly into his shoulder, and then she pulled away, lifting her tear-filled eyes to him. "I want to go home now, Danno," she whispered, her lower lip quivering. "Please?"

Danny blinked, staring at his little girl in speechless confusion. "Are you sure you don't want to see uncle Steve first, Monkey?" he managed finally, cupping her face gently with both palms.

But Grace merely sniffed again, letting out another desperate, half-choked "Please..."

Still holding on to his daughter, Danny twisted around, meeting the cousins' bewildered expressions. He supposed his wasn't any better.

"Guys ... would you...?"

Chin was the first to recover. "We'll stay here, Danny. You take your daughter home. It'll be alright."

"We'll watch over the boss man, Danny. Don't worry," Kono chimed in, giving him a tight, nervous smile.

He nodded, swallowing a bitter lump of apprehension, and straightened himself out, pulling Grace up into his arms. "Call me?" he all but begged.

"As soon as we get in to see him," Chin promised.

Danny nodded again and walked out wordlessly, hugging his daughter close to his chest, his mind reeling with agonizing, panic-tinged thoughts. _"What is happening with you, Monkey?"_

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

Night had come quickly, catching her unawares. The lights in the ICU dimmed to a comfortable crepuscular glow, making her suddenly conscious of the darkness outside. Leaning back in her chair, her knees pulled tight against her chest, Kono glanced at the wall clock behind her. _10:30. _Another couple of hours and Chin will be coming in to replace her. Then it's Danny's shift. Then hers again. By some unspoken agreement the three of them decided that they weren't going to risk having Steve wake up alone.

_Speaking of... _ Kono shifted her gaze to the man in bed, her face pulling into a deep frown. "Oh, Boss..."

In the semi-twilight, McGarrett's skin seemed nearly translucent, the long dark lashes – the only splash of color on the deathly-still, waxen face. He looked so small, so vulnerable in that cold, crisp-white bed, and Kono fought the urge to go to him and pull him into her arms.

It was the second time now in a very short few weeks that they nearly lost him. Third, if you counted North Korea. And, yes, Wo Fat did quite a number on him. Castillo, however, brought him just too damn close to the brink of death. Twice. And the remaining Five-0 members were still reeling from the implications of what could have been.

_"Maybe it's time the boss took a nice long vacation somewhere away from guns and explosives, where no vengeful homicidal maniacs knew him or of him. Alaska, maybe. Or the Gobi Desert." _ She sighed, closing her eyes momentarily, as she tried to picture McGarrett fishing for salmon in the cold Alaskan waters or riding a camel through the vast, gloomy expanse of the Mongolian desert. _No, the boss would be able to find trouble even there. They're still going to have to tag along just to keep an eye on him._

She sighed, letting herself relax in her plastic seat as much as it was possible under the circumstances, the soft lighting and the peaceful quiet of the ICU lulling her to sleep.

"Grace..."

The word, barely above a whisper, floated past the chapped, bloodless lips – soft and airy like a wisp of a breath on a crisp winter man in bed shifted restlessly, his hand moving jerkily, as though trying to reach for something or someone.

"Grace." More urgent, more desperate this time. "No. Don't..."

Beside him Kono came awake with a start, her long legs slipping gracelessly onto the floor, as she rubbed her eyes furiously, forcing sleep away.

"Steve!" She shot up, reaching the injured man's side, even as the latter's agitation reached its peak.

The dark blue eyes flew open, unseeing, and he jerked upward, a furious cry of "Get away from her!" ripping out of his throat.

Swiftly punching the nurse call button, Kono leaned over the flailing SEAL, gripping his shoulders as tightly as she dared.

"Steve. Boss. Hey, it's me, Kono," she whispered urgently, trying to catch the wildly flitting eyes. "You're in a hospital. You're alright. You hear me?"

"Grace." The slightly unfocused blue eyes locked with hers, and Kono barely held back a gasp at the anguish she saw in them. "They're gonna... I have to..."

"Grace is okay, Boss," she assured, giving him a tentative smile. "You saved her. She's at home. She's safe."

The door behind them opened, a nurse rushing in, hurrying to her patient's side. McGarrett turned his head slowly, blinking sluggishly up at the newcomer, as the latter busied herself with checking his vitals.

"Hospital?" he repeated dazedly, switching his bleary gaze back to the dark-haired face above him. "Kono?"

"Yeah, Boss," the smile on the young woman's face grew brighter, and she pulled back a bit, finally releasing the death grip she had on his shoulders. Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out her phone and winked at the man in bed. "The guys are gonna be thrilled to know that you're awake, Boss man. I'm gonna call them right now."

"Danno?" the former SEAL questioned, his voice barely above a whisper, as his eyes had already began sliding shut. "All... safe...?"

Placing her free hand back onto McGarrett's shoulder, she squeezed it gently and leaned back in, whispering the words of comfort the semi-conscious man so desperately needed to hear. "Yes, Steve. All safe."

* * *

TBC

Now, definitely only one chapter left (LOL). I hope you enjoyed this one. Let me know your thoughts.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N** Well, here it is, finally, the last chapter. Phew. I tried to wrap everything up in a nice, neat package. Hopefully, the resulting product is to your satisfaction. I will eagerly look forward to your thoughts.

**A/N2 **Thank you to all the reviews and alerts and the faves that I received throughout this story. I've been negligent in my duties and haven't responded to some of you. I apologize for that. Please know it wasn't an intentional slight on my part - just RL tearing me in all kinds of directions. Thank you for your continuous support!

* * *

**Chapter 16**

The return to consciousness was much slower this time: a gradual, arduously sluggish trek through a thick, viscous mire of warm, sticky slime that clung to him tight and unrelenting, pulling him in deeper, the harder he fought against it. He clawed his way through, though. He was determined, if nothing else.

Smells came back first - the crispy clean scent of fresh linen, the sterile, antiseptic smell of a hospital. _Yes. Hospital. He remembered._

Voices floated toward him. Hushed, familiar. _Danny. Kono. They were here. They were safe._

"What did the doctor say?"

_Danny. He sounded worried. He always worried._

"He said both lungs sound good. And his wounds are healing nicely. He's doing good, Danny, really. He didn't even rip any stitches, when he..."

"When he what? Kono?"

"He...," there was a note of hesitation in Kono's voice, and Steve fought unsuccessfully to unglue his eyelids to take a peek, but the damned things seemed to be made of lead. He wondered briefly what sorts of drugs they were pumping into him in this hospital to make it so incredibly difficult to wake all the way up.

"Why the **HELL** would he do that?" Danny's voice rose a few notches, and Steve frowned, realizing that he had just lost a few minutes of the conversation.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Steve once again tried to force his eyes to open, pulling all of his available energy into that simple movement. He nearly whooped with joy, when he was finally confronted with a colorful gamut of shapeless blobs that gradually began to morph into something more recognizable. After a few more blinks to clear his vision, there they were before him – Danny and Kono – standing next to each other by the window, unaware as yet that they were being observed.

Steve frowned, noting the tension in Danny's posture, the hands that were gripping the edge of the windowsill hard enough to leave indentation marks if the material had been any softer. And somehow he couldn't believe that he was the cause of that tension. _No. Something else was going on._ Kono's flustered expression only served to prove his suspicions.

"He had a nightmare, I think," she began to explain, her fingers worrying the edge of her blouse. "He woke up screaming at someone to get away from-"

"Grace," Danny finished for her, his voice dull, hollow, as he swung his head sharply away from her, choosing to stare out the window instead.

"Grace," Kono confirmed, her hand hovering nervously above Danny's shoulders, which have become even more rigid, if that were even possible.

"She still hasn't said a word about what happened, you know," the blond grated out hoarsely, his gaze still fixed on some random point beyond the window pane. "Not to me. Not to Rachel. And she refuses to come here, to see him."

"Why would she-?" Kono frowned in confusion.

Danny shook his head mutely. "I don't know. Rachel...," he barked out a humorless laugh, fingers scraping against the white paint, "Rachel is convinced that it's all somehow Steve's fault. She thinks something happened at the hospital, something that Steve did that made Grace wary of him."

_"Oh, god..."_ A wave of guilt and despair slammed into him, brutal and suffocating, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away from the window. _Of course, Grace was wary of him. He failed to protect her. Failed to keep her away from that creep Castillo._

Kono's hand fell away, smacking audibly against the windowsill. "What? No. Danny, you know that's not possible. Steve-"

"I **KNOW **what Steve did, alright!" Danny spun toward her, hand cutting through the air in frustration. "And I don't think I could **ever **repay him for that. But... something's been bothering Gracie. Whenever I mention Steve, she ... she just shuts down." He ran the same hand through his hair. Once, twice. "Something else happened there, Kono. Something must have," he added, his voice quiet, resigned. "And I need ... I need to know what's going on with my little girl."

Kono nodded, swallowing nervously, as she threw a furtive glance at the man in bed. Steve appeared to still be sleeping, so she asked cautiously, "What are you going to do?"

He signed in response – a long, heavy sound. "Rachel is taking her to a child psychologist today. I'm meeting them there in," he checked his watch, "twenty minutes. I already called Chin to see if he could take some of my hours with Steve, but I was wondering if you could-"

"Of course, Danny," she cut in quickly, once again placing her hand on his shoulder. "I got no problem babysitting him a bit longer. You go."

"Thanks," he nodded, also casting a quick glance at his partner. "I'll...uh... I'll call when I ..."

"Okay. Go."

And Danny left, carefully closing the door behind him, while Kono turned back to the window and stared out at the city below, lost in thought. Neither of them aware that their conversation had been overheard; neither of them noticing the silent tears that slipped from underneath their friend's tightly closed eyelids, dripping soundlessly onto the pristine white fabric of the pillow.

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

"They've been in there almost an hour already," Danny huffed out, pacing nervously in front of a large antique wall clock, whose pendulum swung solidly back and forth, clicking off seconds with annoying indifference.

"Wearing a hole in that floor won't make them get done any faster, Daniel," Rachel retorted, her voice tight with anger and worry. "You just hope that whatever your partner did hasn't messed our daughter up so badly that she will need therapy for the rest of her life."

He whirled to face her then, fury at her words making his cheeks hot. "We've been over this, Rach. Steve hasn't done **anything **to her other than risk his own life to protect her!" he hissed, taking a sharp, threatening step in her direction. "You know as well as I do how much he cares for Grace. How can you even say such a thing?"

Instead of a reply, she stuck her arm out, pointing at the thick oak door with a simple brushed metal sign that read "Leilani Naihe, Ph.D.". "Easy," she added, the word rolling off her tongue - bitingly cold, hateful.

And Danny didn't respond. Couldn't. Because, yeah, that right there – their little girl sitting inside a psychologist's office for the past forty minutes – was proof enough that something did happen. Doubt flared again, like it did every time he looked at Grace's broken, tear-filled expression, like it did that fateful night at the hospital, when he was trying to keep his partner from bleeding out on the cold, grey floor. He pushed it back again, absently rubbing his hands, as though in Lady Macbeth's fashion he were trying to clean off some phantom traces of his friend's blood.

The heavy wooden door opened suddenly, the petite, thirty-something doctor smiling at both of them, as she motioned for them to come in.

"Mrs. Edwards, Mr. Williams, would you, please, join us?"

They did, walking inside her office with hesitant trepidation, as though they were humbled worshippers, setting foot inside a centuries-old gothic cathedral with its sky-high vaulted ceilings, tall stained glass windows and frightening shadows cast onto the dark stone walls by rows of flickering candles.

The first thing they saw was their daughter, sitting with her knees drawn high on a cushioned leather chair in front of a small coffee-type table that was covered with blank sheets of paper, crayons and children's books. An identical chair stood on the other side of the table, facing her.

Grace looked up as they entered, a tentative smile playing on her uncharacteristically pale face.

Danny made a move toward her, but Dr. Naihe stood quietly but firmly in his path, gesturing both of them to the nearby sofa instead. "Why don't you both take a seat," she offered gently, while she herself settled in the remaining chair. "Grace and I spent some time talking," Dr. Naihe continued, throwing her charge a quick look, as if asking her permission to continue, "and Grace decided that she was now ready to share with you what has been bothering her for the past few days."

Grace nodded slowly, her face growing a shade paler still, as she readied herself. "I hurt Uncle Steve," she managed finally, her voice trembling with poorly controlled emotions.

Whatever else her parents might have expected her to say, this wasn't it. Frowning in confusion at this abrupt admission, Danny opened his mouth to reply. His ex-wife beat him to it.

"I understand that you are upset that these bad men hurt...," she stumbled awkwardly over the word 'uncle', earning herself a glare from Danny, "...**Uncle** Steve, but it wasn't your fault, Sweetheart. They were just –"

"No, you don't understand," Grace interrupted, glancing desperately at the psychologist, a silent call for help.

"Perhaps," Dr. Naihe chimed in, fixing the two other adults with a hard, cautionary stare, "you should let Grace explain."

Biting down nervously on her lower lip, the 9-year-old raised a tremulous gaze to her parents' faces, as if evaluating their readiness to listen. His mouth slammed forcibly shut, hands held still in his lap, Danny sat ramrod straight, waiting for his little girl to start speaking again and hoping that his ex-wife would have enough sense to keep her mouth shut this time.

"I know that Uncle Steve got hurt because he was trying to protect me," Grace began, her tone slightly condescending, as though she were speaking to a group of little children. "If I had stayed hidden like he told me to, he never would have gotten hurt as bad as he did."

Danny's eyes widened slightly at that admission. _"So Steve realized that something was wrong and told Gracie to hide. Good for him! But why did she come out?"_ Grace's very next words put an end to his musings.

"I know I shouldn't have come out, but this man... he was telling Uncle Steve that he was going to shoot him, and I got scared. I... I screamed and–"

"It's okay, Gracie," Danny soothed, daring to shift slightly forward on the couch to move another inch closer to his daughter.

She shook her head. "No. I made it worse." She took in a shuddering breath, letting her legs drop down to the floor. "That man... he wanted to know who I was. Uncle Steve told me not to say anything, and the man hit him with his gun." Grace looked up, her tear-filled eyes briefly locking with Danny's. "He hit him so hard, Daddy. And then he told me he'd do it again, if I didn't give him my name."

"So you did." It wasn't a question, but Grace nodded anyway, swallowing down tears in tandem with her father.

Dropping her gaze once again to her lap, she continued brokenly, "H-he forced Uncle Steve and me into the hallway, and he wanted me to walk with him, s-so Uncle Steve wouldn't ... so he would behave." She swallowed convulsively again, bringing her hand up to wipe at her tear-stained cheeks. "He grabbed my shoulder," she continued, her voice dropping to nearly a whisper, "but Uncle Steve... he wouldn't let him take me. S-so... so the man pointed his gun at him a-and..."

Grace broke off, shaking her head frantically, and Danny was already rising off the sofa, anxious to go to her.

The therapist's soft "Go on, Gracie," stopped him short, and he froze in mid-movement, watching his daughter uncertainly.

"It's alright, Detective," Dr. Naihe nodded toward him, motioning for him to sit back down. "It is important for Grace to finish telling her story."

He complied, albeit reluctantly, settling himself down on the very edge of cushion, his fingers digging painfully into its smooth dark surface. Beside him Rachel shifted awkwardly, her posture stiff, trembling.

"I didn't want him to shoot Uncle Steve," Grace murmured finally, her voice further muffled by her arm, as she wiped it angrily across her eyes. "So I... I hit his leg, the one with the stitches. I pushed on it as hard as I could, so he'd ... so he'd let me go."

Her voice dissolved into long, soul-shattering sobs, and Danny could stand it no longer. Moving forward before anyone had time to react, he dropped down onto his knees before her, pulling her sob-wracked body into his arms.

"I hurt him so much, Daddy," she hiccupped wetly into his shirt. "I di-didn't mean to... I j-just ... I didn't want him to get shot... A-and the doctor said his leg ... that he'll need–"

"Uncle Steve is going to be okay, Sweetheart, I promise you," Danny soothed, holding her close, even as his own heart clenched painfully in his chest at the thought of the terrible choice his little girl was forced to make. _"Damn you, Castillo!"_

"And he knows why you did what you did. I'm sure of it."

"But I–"

"Is that what's been bothering you?" he interrupted, pulling back a bit, his hand slipping under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "That's why you didn't want to go see him?"

She sniffled, giving him the tiniest of nods. "I didn't think he'd want to see me after..."

"Oh, Monkey." Pulling her swiftly back into his embrace, Danny whispered urgently in her ear, "You did what you did to protect Uncle Steve, right?" He felt her nod against his chest, her breath hitching slightly. "And what did Uncle Steve do after you hit him?" The question was soft, gentle, but he still felt Grace stiffen in his embrace.

"He ... he got me away from that man and pushed me into the elevator. And then–"

She broke off again, and Danny was glad for it. He already knew what happened next, and he didn't need his daughter rehashing that scene again – for her sake as well as his. Instead, he pushed on with his plan.

"So he protected you, just like you protected him before." Feeling her nod again, he queried cautiously, "Do you think he would have done that if he was angry with you?"

Grace looked up at that, her tear-filled eyes growing wide, as she considered the question. "N-no," she stammered finally, "but-"

"Uncle Steve loves you very much, Monkey," Danny murmured, running a gentle thumb across her wet cheek. "Almost as much as Danno does. You know what was the first thing he said when he woke up?"

She shook her head, watching him expectantly.

"He asked about you. He wanted to know if you were safe."

Grace drew another unsteady breath, watching him carefully, her lower lip squeezed firmly between her teeth. "Danno?"

"Yes, Monkey?"

"Do... do you think I could visit Uncle Steve?"

He smiled, throwing a brief triumphant look at Rachel, who merely pursed her lips in response. "I think your Uncle Steve would like that very much."

**The Epilogue**

Hands folded casually across his chest, Steve stood leaning against the hood of his truck, watching the silver Camaro pull up toward him. It had taken him three long, difficult months of physical and emotional recuperation to get to where he was now; to where, apart from a dull pain in his left leg that made itself know whenever he worked himself too hard and an occasional nightmare that ripped him, sweating and screaming, out of the warm, tangled cocoon of his bed sheets and sent him tumbling out into the cool night air, seeking the ocean's cooling soothingness, he was pretty much back to his old self.

He thought back to that day at the hospital, when he felt like his whole world was crashing down all around him, when he overheard his partner's strained confession that Grace was traumatized by his actions. He never had as strong of an urge to die, to disappear off the face of the earth as he did then.

_He put on quite a show for Kono's benefit, convincing her that he was fine and that she could take a break from watching him lie around and do nothing. He gave his best performance under the circumstances, yet Kono still looked unconvinced. And only the knowledge that Chin would be coming in for his shift in a little over two hours and the fact that she was nearly dead on her feet after spending over six hours at his bedside helped Steve win his argument._

_As soon as he was certain that she was gone, he began his arduous task of getting out of bed. He needed to get out, he knew that much. He couldn't imagine facing Danny again – the silent accusation, the cold hostility he was sure he'd see every time he'd look into his partner's eyes was too much for him to bear. He supposed Danny wouldn't want to be around him either (not that he blamed him)._

_He didn't really have a plan. His clothes, the ones he was wearing when Castillo kidnapped him, were ruined. But if he could just "borrow" another set of scrubs like Castillo had and then hail a cab home... well, he'll figure out what to do next once he'd get there._

_...It had taken an obscene amount of effort and time to cross the seemingly small and insignificant distance from the bed to the door. By the time his clammy fingers closed convulsively around the handle, he was drenched in sweat, his entire body trembling with pain and exhaustion. Drained to the very core, he leaned on the door weakly, letting his forehead drop against the polished wooden surface with a dull thud. He needed more time. Time for the nauseating pain in his left leg to go down to a manageable level. Time for the world around him to stop spinning. Time for his body to regain enough strength to be able to push forward once more._

_That was how Danny found him some twenty minutes later, when he unexpectedly pulled the door open, depriving him of his only support. The shorter man grunted in surprise, as Steve pitched forward, collapsing gracelessly onto his partner's unsuspecting frame._

_Danny was furious, ranting angrily at him, as he hauled his still disturbingly weak body back into bed. The sharply huffed out phrases, "What the hell do you think you were doing?" and "Are you certifiably insane? No, don't answer that. Of course you are," drifted into his pain-muddled consciousness, and he attempted to justify himself, to explain his own disjointed thoughts: about Grace, and failure, and broken trust. _

_Danny stilled at his gasped out words, his face going rapidly from confusion to shocked realization. A moment later he was out the door, muttering something about birds of a feather. When he returned seconds later trailed by Grace, it was Steve's turn to frown in confusion. He fought to sit up, only to be pushed (surprisingly gently) back down by his partner._

_"W-why?" he wheezed stupidly, staring up at Danny's face, as he tried to make sense of this unexpected turn of events. "I th-thought Rachel and you..."_

_The blond merely shook his head in exasperation, even as he nudged his daughter toward him. "Because, my impulsive eavesdropping friend, you can't believe everything you hear." Looking down at Grace, he smiled at her encouragingly. "Why don't you explain to your Uncle Steve what you told me, while I go find his doctor - we need to make sure he didn't make things worse for himself with that stunt of his."_

_Steve opened his mouth to object that he didn't need a doctor, even though the throbbing pain in his body had lessened to only a slightly bearable level. But then, suddenly, Grace was curled next to him in bed, her little arms going carefully around his neck, and his heart hammered wildly inside his chest, as he felt her warm breath against his ear._

_"I love you, Uncle Steve. I'm so sorry I hurt your leg. I didn't want that man to shoot you. Please don't be mad at me."_

_His eyes widened in surprise at her rushed, jumbled confession, and he once again looked at Danny, silently asking for an explanation. But his partner shook his head again. "I'll let you two sort this out, while I go track down somebody with a medical degree."_

Steve blew out a long sigh, shaking himself back into the present.

"You got it?" he asked, as soon as his partner pushed his door open, his blond locks blowing about wildly in the wind.

Instead of a response, Danny reached back into the car, pulling out an ordinary-looking, dark-fabric backpack. "Just so you know, if HPD comes knocking on my door for stealing the evidence, I'm pointing them straight to you."

Steve smirked, nodding his thanks, as he pushed himself away from the car and motioned toward a black helicopter that stood waiting for them a few feet away.

"You absolutely sure you wanna do this?" Danny asked, giving the seemingly harmless machine a dubious once-over.

The former SEAL rolled his eyes, shaking his head in mild annoyance. "You've asked me this before, Danny. What makes you think the answer is going to be any different this time?"

"I don't know," Williams responded with a shrug. "Maybe I was hoping you'd come to your senses."

His mouth pulled in a tight line, Steve took the backpack from his friend's hands and walked over to the chopper, pulling the door open and sliding into the driver's seat. Through the windshield he watched as his partner threw his hands up in frustrated resignation and walked briskly toward him.

"I have to do this, Danny," he whispered, once the blond detective lowered himself onto the seat next to him with an exaggerated groan.

Relief washed over him like a tidal wave, when he felt his friend's warm hand land on his shoulder in response. "Start it up, Super SEAL, before I change my mind."

H50 H50 H50 H50 H50 H50

A little over forty minutes later they were hovering over the brilliant blue waters a few miles north of Kauai. The ocean was perfectly calm, safe for the mild, nervous ripples and mist churned about by the helicopter's blades.

_This was it. The place that a few months ago nearly became his grave._

Steve stared before him at the innocuous-looking, gently fluttering surface, unable to quite hold back a shudder that ran through him as he remembered waking up on the missile-torn floor, soaked in that same ocean water. The memories of pain, exhaustion and a feeling of utter helplessness washed over him in an instant, and he slammed his eyes shut, pushing back the torturous onslaught.

His partner's hand squeezed his shoulder again, warm and anchoring. "You okay, babe?"

He nodded not quite trusting himself to speak. Reaching behind him for the backpack, he pulled it into his lap, motioning for Danny to take over the controls. With his partner holding on to the stick, he reached into the bag, pulling out his own ruined vest with the word "Revancha" painted across its front and a pair of blood-covered handcuffs. After a moment of hesitation, he pulled open his door and tossed both items down, watching them disappear in the softly churning waters below and desperately hoping that at least some of his memories would drown with them.

"Feel better?" Danny asked softly after a few moments. Upon receiving his silent nod, he added, "Good. Then how about turning back before we run out of fuel? 'Cause, you know, I really don't feel like taking a swim in the ocean in the middle of nowhere."

He turned to him then, grateful for the distraction of levity. "Don't worry, Danno," he smirked, "if you go down, I'll be going down with you."

"So... what: if I die, you die too?" Danny stammered, his face slowly beginning to take on the color of a pale beet. "Is that supposed to reassure me?"

Fighting a futile battle against a full-blown grin that pulled insistently at the corners of his lips, Steve responded in a voice too choked with held-back laughter to be steady, "Together forever, Danno. To infinity and beyond!"

"No, no, no, no! **HELL** NO!" The Jersey native threw up his hands, going into a comfortingly familiar rant mode. "There is ABSOLUTELY! NO! WAY! I am spending my well-earned eternity stuck with you, Mr. SEAL-Freaking Lightyear!"

Steve fell back into his seat, his shoulders shaking with laughter that soon made its way past his lips, echoing, joyful and carefree, through the small cabin. "Thanks, Danny," he gasped out finally, when he managed to catch his breath, hoping that his friend would understand that he meant "for being there, for helping me through".

And Danny did. Slapping him gently on the knee, all pretense of irate ranting gone, he nodded, "Anytime, babe. Anytime. I'd say thank **you **for saving my baby's life... and my sanity in the process, but I don't think a simple thank you would be enough for what... for what you did." He broke off, swallowing down a thick lump of emotions that threatened to choke him.

Steve responded by taking his right arm off the controls and wrapping it tightly around his partner's shoulders. "Ohana, Danny," he murmured, making sure to catch the smaller man's eyes.

Danny managed a small nod, once again swallowing thickly. Then giving a small cough to dispel the sentimental awkwardness of the moment, he poked the former SEAL lightly in the ribs, whispering hoarsely, "Now take your gargantuan paws off of me, sailor, and get us back on dry land. I can't wait to get the hell out of this death-trap and kiss the ground."

Steve gave him a mock salute, his face splitting into a wide, shit-eating grin. "Aye-aye, Captain."

* * *

FIN


End file.
